Prisoner in Somone Else's Head
by Kurieo Parnok
Summary: TFA: John Macbeth knew that he was a fighter at heart, but had never dreamt, that he would ever be able to let his true self out, certainly not in the way he was given the day his life ended. At the same time, three good mechs just can't stay dead.
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers Animated or any attached characters, nor any here in mentioned and recognized songs, culture references, et cet. I only own the story.**

**Summary:**** TFA: John Macbeth knew that he was a fighter at heart, but had never dreamt, or dreaded, that he would ever be able to let his true self out, certainly not in the way he was given the day his life ended. At the same time, three good mechs just can't stay dead…**

**Rated for:** **Language, violence, hints of mature themes**

**Author's Note****: This was originally supposed to be two different stories, but I realized that if I was going to be dull and make two stories of humans and Transformers merging then I should at least make an **_**attempt**_** at avoiding redundancy and ta-da, made them one story. Sorry if the chapters are long, I'll do what I can about them.**

**Also, I'm not going to flat-out write Blitzwing's accents. I am not going to run a risk of butchering it or making his speech hard to understand.**

To avoid confusion whilst reading parts with our schizophrenic pal, Blitzwing:

**Text**: Hothead speaking. _**Text**_: Hothead thinking. Text: Random speaking.

_Text:_ Random thinking. Text: Cold speaking. _*Text*:_ Cold speaking.

**Chapter 1: Introduction**

It had been a sunny day in Detroit; the sort of summer day Detroit was kin to having. As usual, people strode about on their own business, seemingly oblivious to the automatons that crawled in the corners of their vision. The mechanical drones were tending to the dirty jobs that the Detroit residents had long since deigned below them to do; washing windows, cleaning up garbage, selling hot dogs and the like. But this story does not start in these sunny streets, but in a karate school in Up Town Detroit, where places like the city mall and Sumdac Tower were set.

In this karate school, the north wall faced out to the street while half the southern wall faced out over the city's bright green park. The western end of the large one-room school was taken up by a set of small bleachers on which many a proud parent, reluctant teenager, and bored older guardian sat, waiting for the show to start. At the eastern end of the room, numerous youth, ranging from children just past being toddlers up to teenagers were dressed in white robes with a variety of colored sashes around their waists. These students were practicing their moves to show off their guardians and parents. Sometimes a little one would mimic the older children and fail by falling hard on their backs, often breaking out into crying fits that their mothers rushed across the room to soothe.

A middle aged man in his early thirties stood by the door, frequently checking between his watch and the street outside. The white robes and the black sash around his waist were clear pointers to that he was a teacher of the school.

Some of the mothers often glanced over at him, seizing him up, as he was a rather hansom man for his thirties. Not yet seized by the curse of gaining weight when he stopped being officially young, the teacher had made sure to keep his limbs taut, muscular and strong with his shoulders square and his back straight. His slightly curled blonde hair was neatly combed and his bright brown eyes, like perfect caramel, seemed to have an "alluring gaze". AKA: the wives wanted a certain marriage-ruining gift from him and were becoming delusional for it.

Finally, the teacher sighed and shook his head, apparently giving up on whatever he was waiting for, and walked over, standing in front of the bleachers, motioning for the kids to get ready.

"Sorry for the wait, everyone," he announced, his voice graced by the faintest brushings of a Russian accent, "But the other two teachers of the Recreational Youth School of Karate appeared to have skipped out on the graduation ceremony—"

"Wish I could join them," one bored teenager called out.

His mother elbowed him hard in the side.

"So we'll just go on without them. Allow me to introduce myself: I am John Macbeth..."

He then proceeded to tell the family and friends of his students how he was so proud of them for working so hard and how he had never had a better class and how he would miss them all and blah, blah, blah. It was something he said for every class every year.

While the parents bought into it, it looked like most of the teenagers who had been forced to come knew very well that Macbeth was just going through the motions to keep himself from loosing future customers. Still, this job was better than the job Macbeth had for the rest of the year; a limo driver and body guard. True, driving and guarding local celebrities around sounds far more glorious than being a karate school teacher. That is, until one realized that "local celebrities" merely meant spoiled rich little girls who had been sent on a shopping spree to let her daddy have time with his mistress and any stupid local teenager that had enough cash to pay at prom time.

After the speech, Macbeth moved aside and allowed the kids to have their show, play fighting and showing off their moves. As they did their thing, Macbeth looked at each student and envied their youth. They had their teenage years ahead of them; the time where they had just the right amount of dependence and independence where they could do whatever they want behind their parents' backs and yet, still be dependent enough as to not need a time-consuming job. As teenagers, they would have the ability that was no longer an option for Macbeth: Fighting.

As teenagers, the worse that could happen when two boys duke it out in a back alley was a smack upside the head from their mentor. Maybe some time in the police station's cell, or even juvie, but only if they were stupid and pushed it too far.

As adults, two men could go to jail for fighting, an activity that Macbeth desired. Everyone has desired combat at one point in their lives; to pick up a weapon and crash it into an opponent's soft body, to punch their opponent until the knuckles were bleeding, or kick into someone just to feel their ribs snap, ending it all by howling their defiance just so on lookers would raise their eye brows and applaud their energy and strength. It was one of the most basic and primal urges and desires of human kind; to let out all their frustration, anger, and defiance, as well as prove their strength, through violent combat. Even the most innocent person has at least _one_ time in their lives when they just want to smash someone else's face in.

But society forbade such "barbaric acts" and hence, Macbeth was trapped inside a net of laws and rules, a net that had not yet closed around the teenage population, always looking towards the sky where he had once spread his wings and screeched his war cry while on the hunt.

**Meanwhile, many galaxies away…**

Megatron wished he were dead.

He wished that the Autobot space bridge rock clear man, Optimus Prime, had dug his energon-laced axe into Megatron's cranium and ended his life. He wished that Optimus had stopped being such a good little Autobot and had let his inner rage out to rip apart Megatron's Spark chamber. He even almost wished that his idiot, backstabbing second-in-command, Starscream, had succeeded in throttling the life out of him before the All Spark fragment in his forehead had been ripped out for the purpose of defeating Megatron. He wished for death, though, not because he was the disgraced leader of the great Decepticons, not because his beloved arm cannon had been crushed and removed, not because of the jeers his Autobot guards always gave him, but because of something worse. He was doomed to spend the rest of his life…

"The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout…"

He slammed the back of his head into the wall.

He was doomed to spend the rest of his life in a prison cell beside _Blitzwing_.

"Blitzwing," Megatron shouted, "I swear, by Primus, if you don't cease that racket at once, I will build an arm cannon from my leg just so I can blow through this wall that separates us and _throttle the music out of you!!!"_

A short whirring noise of gears could be heard the next cell over and the voice changed to a far calmer German accent than what had been singing before.

"My apologies, Lord Megatron," Blitzwing replied, "It is rather boring in here, no?"

"Of course, Blitzwing," Megatron said, leaning back on the bench in his cell, "The Stockades were built for punishment, not pleasure."

Normally Megatron would not deem any of his soldiers worthy to speak with him in length, but since the two had been moved into an abandoned branch of the Stockades, far below ground, for the purpose of mental breakage and the guards had been coming less and less, even he desired social companionship. Blitzwing and his three split personalities could be a head ache to deal with, but he was gradually becoming used to it. Or loosing his own sanity, Primus save him.

"If I may ask, Lord Megatron," Blitzwing ventured, "What are you going to do when you get out?"

Aw, Blitzwing was trying to cheer Megatron up! He asked this question at least once every day, even though he knew the answer, knowing that Megatron loved a good rave.

"First," Megatron began with a devilish smile, "I will rip the Spark chamber out of the first Autobot I see, whether it be mech, femme, or proto-form. Then I will free all my mechs from this cursed prison, hi-jack several spacecraft, and burn this cursed place to the ground. Then I will seek and find out the Autobots who put me here and kill each and every one of them, one by one, _very slowly_. But I won't start with them, oh no, no, no, that would be _far_ too easy. Rather, I'll begin with their friends and family, starting with those least important to them and making my way up to their lovers and best friends. Then I will kill their best friends and lovers ever so slowly in front of them and give them hope by acting like I have some sort of sickness or weakness. We will fight and I will let them win part way… then I will crush them beneath my boot!"

Megatron leaped to his feet, standing tall as a vengeful fire burned in his ruby red optics while he clenched his black metal hands in excitement.

"Then I will _laugh_ at them as they die!" he shouted, "I will laugh while they bleed and die below me! And then I will go on to ruin Cybertron and take my rightful throne as _Lord Megatron, ruler of the universe!!!"_

"Hail, Megatron!" Blitzwing cheered. "For it shall be done!"

"Yes, yes it will be—"Megatron began.

But the sound of Blitzwing's faces changing sounded out again and the first voice that had been singing, the one warped with energy and enthusiasm, interrupted Megatron.

"No, really, it'll happen! I know a way out of here!"

Megatron stared at the blank wall of his prison for one dumb moment as he ran the last sentence through his processor a couple dozen more times in quick succession. Finally, he spun around and faced the wall through which he and Blitzwing were communicating.

"_What!?"_ he exclaimed.

The whirring gears sounded again and the calm voice of Blitzwing replied, "It's rather simple and an old trick: I pretend to be dead and the guards will come in to see if I'm okay. When they're close enough, I'll off line them, take their prison keys, and revenge is yours."

"How will you manage to play dead?" Megatron asked curiously.

He heard a boot kick the ceiling and glass shatter as the light there was taken out.

"There, they won't be able to see for sure until it's too late," Blitzwing said in satisfaction. "Now we wait…"

"Blitzwing, if this plan works, you will be rewarded well," Megatron promised and meaning it for once while not actually promising death.

Several more hours passed and Megatron became more and more impatient. Normally, he would despise any and all contact with his guards, as it would always end with them jeering at him and making sarcastic comments about his plummet from greatness, thoroughly abusing his situation. It was not also embarrassing, but demeaning and infuriating. But if Blitzwing's plan worked, then he would be able to make his guards _eat_ their insults. But first the guards needed to _come_…

Megatron had not meant to fall asleep, but next thing he knew the automatic cell light was off, signaling night time, and he could hear voices next door.

"Hey, triple changer! Answer us!" one of the guards snarled.

"Uh, he's not moving," the second guard said nervously.

"Oh come _on_," the first guard snarled as an electronic lock beeped as it was unlocked. "What could have killed him? He's in a freaking _Stockade cell_ for Primus' sake…"

A triumphant smirk crossed Megatron's face when he heard the crash of metal on metal as Blitzwing burst into action. The guards screamed before there were awful metal snaps as they were disposed of. But the smirk disappeared, how ever, when emergency sirens had been going off.

"**What the Pit--?"** a deep-voiced, angry side of Blitzwing began to ask outside.

"The alarms were attached the guards' vital signs," Megatron snarled. "Quick, unlock me!"

"**I am trying; the locks won't work!"**

"The locks must be programmed to shut and _stay shut_ if the alarm is tripped," Megatron cursed. "There is no time to bust me out. Blitzwing, I am giving you a direct order: Escape, go to Shockwave, and help him rally my army together to free me from this prison. Go, now!"

"Yes, Lord Megatron!" Blitzwing replied. "I looked forward to when we will meet again."

The familiar series of mechanical tones of a Transformer behaving on their name sake sounded out and rockets blasted outside as Blitzwing assumed his jet form and sped away. Megatron sat down hard on his bench, resting his elbows on his knees and his face on his fists, feeling rotten and yet, relieved.

He felt rotten because freedom had come so close—_so _close!—and had eluded him because of some simple alarm tricks. But he also felt relieved because he had sent Blitzwing out to gather his army for him; a soldier that, while unusual, had proven himself to be valuable and loyal.

Now, it was a simple matter of waiting…

- - - -

"You didn't have to go so fast," Officer Charles said as he scribbled some writing onto the ticket. "I mean, if you were delivering a woman in labor to the hospital, or had someone loosing a lot of blood in the back seat, I would understand. Heck, if you were being chased by _robots_ I would order you to go _faster!_" he laughed, completely ignoring how his unfortunate victim cringed in his seat.

Mentioning the Transformer robots that had come to plague Detroit may have been excess, but it was a harmless joke of a threat. The parents told their children about the boogeyman to keep them in line and Officer Charles told law breakers about the alien robots to keep them in line. Sure, many of the robots, the Autobots, were good guys, but there were other guys, like the Decepticons, who were bad guys and had earned their reputation of fear.

Five years ago the robots known as Transformers had appeared, turning Detroit into their battlefield for power. Charles had seen a lot of action in those days, starting with the enormous slug bug made of nanobots, moving on to everything from hay wire police drones, a super speedy thief, and a massive technology freeze on the entire city. Oh, and the fire-breathing Dinobots; that was particularly memorable because Captain Fanzone, head of the Detroit police department, had actually taken a bazooka from someone near him and… well, you get the idea.

Life had been _such_ pain for a long time after that, but Charles and the other police men got used to it. Among the usual calls of getting cats out of trees and investigating an occasional homicide or robbery, every police and fire man in the city would find themselves bolting to one end of the city where buildings were being crushed while enormous titans of steel fought it out in the wide streets of the advanced technology city. Heck, after a while it became a joke as the officers bet among themselves which building was going to get a "renovation" soon.

"Here," Charles said, handing the Pink Slip of Doom to the driver of the car he had pulled over. "Drive safe, now; there's road construction ahead."

The driver nodded and waited until Charles was on his way back to his motorcycle before speeding away. Charles didn't even bother considering chasing after the reckless sap; he was having a good day. The sun was shining, the weather was warm, and he hadn't had to investigate any gruesome murders or robberies lately. He didn't have to worry about robots because a year ago the Autobots finally defeated the Decepticons, leaving Detroit safe. Now the Autobots were stationed in Detroit to keep an eye out for any more threats, but so far the threats were nothing the well-armed police force couldn't handle. Life was good for the police man, and on top of that, he had his motorcycle.

The day the police force had received its new motorcycles, Charles had thought it was a publicity stunt of some sort because they were so cool. The motorcycles were sleek and black with golden headlights and accents, seeming more like something a young action movie star would be riding. The price tag proved such a fact, but the bikes were for the police and the police alone.

Charles loved his bike, polishing it once every week and keeping it clean and in top condition. He loved how it hummed beneath him on the roads, gliding across rough and smooth pavement alike, and turned at the gentlest twist of the handle bars or leans. Other officers often joked that Charles and his bike were a lot alike; slim, strong, and dark. Charles begged to differ; with his brown mustache, curly hair, and deep blue eyes, with only slightly tanned complexion, he thought he resembled a truck driver. Just put the man in jeans and a flannel shirt, driving a beat up 1980's Ford through a dusty Texas field and he would complete the image. But who was he to judge his looks?

He threw a white-panted leg, clad with a knee-high black boot, over the back of his motorcycle and settled down on the comfortably firm black leather seat. He picked up his white helmet from the seat in front of him and set it over his brown curly hair before pulling a pair of mirror shades from the yellow collar of his black police top and slipped them on. Gripping the handle bars with his black gloved hands, he started his motorcycle up and slid into the Saturday morning traffic of the highway. Larger vehicles zipped by all around him, threatening to shove him off balance with their wind flow, but Charles rode firm, a small smile implanted on his face as he patrolled the highway, keeping an eye out for speeders, but not being a stickler for the laws, either. It was a nice day; there was no need to be discourteous!

The traffic soon stopped and Charles had to stop behind a large semi between and in front of some cars. Ahead of him, around the sound of idling engines and music blasting from car radios, he could hear construction going on ahead as the city fixed yet another busted area of the highway left over from the Transformers' battles. Charles turned on his own radio, tuning into a country station, and began to hum along to the familiar beat, tapping his fingers on the handle bars. The song lulled out momentarily before its final crescendo.

But the crescendo never came.

Instead, after a moment of silence, a sort of banjo instrument began. It was the sort of sound that one immediately associated with Asian dujos and Buddhist temples. In Charles' own mind, he suddenly drew up an image of a red-wood dujo with yellow paper screens making the walls, adorned with ancient paintings of Chinese symbols and long, serpent-like dragons. Weird, this was a country station; maybe someone got the tapes mixed up in the radio station?

Charles prepared to change the station, but a flute entered the song, adding the impression of femininity to the song. But then the flute began to warp, being chopped by strange beeps that faded out into whines and whistles. It wasn't an ugly noise, but it was just so _strange_!

In his mind's eye, the red wood of the dujo became metallic, and the Chinese symbols and dragons turned into strange runes--

Charles quickly swatted the radio's off switch, silencing the music. It took him a moment to realize that he was shivering and panting heavily. Why was he so afraid of _music_?

He hesitantly turned the radio on again in time to hear the final lyrics of the country song. No weird dujo music, no Asian-techno; just an all-American blue-collar worker singing a sad sort of praise about love and summer nights at the lake.

He got off his motorcycle and rolled it between the cars over to the side of the high way. The highway was built on a bridge over a series of flood-control gates and concrete creeks. He looked down on these from over the edge of the over pass. Sighing, he rubbed his face. What was wrong with him? Maybe he was sick and should call off work. He _had_ been sleeping poorly lately…

- - - -

Had Officer Charles kept looking over the edge of the highway down into the flood control system, he would have seen a matter that may have required his assistance. A smallish man with slicked back grey-brown hair, dressed in ragged pale blue jeans and a denim jacket over a white shirt bolted across the dry concrete banks, fleeing from a larger, angry-looking man in a red leather jacket, white shirt, and black jeans.

The black-haired man bellowed at his quarry, "Get back here, you little snitch! I'll show _you_ what it's like getting back stabbed, you s#*! Toby! Get back here!"

"Sorry, no hard feelings, Rick, but I have to bring bread to the table and I needed to know what you know about the underground dog fights!" the fleeing blue-based man called over his shoulder. To him, his words were understandable, but to his pursuer, they came out as a rushed garble.

"What the hell did you just say to me, you little punk!?" Rick snarled.

Toby just screamed in panic as they came to the other side of the dried flood control creeks. Toby was still shouting when he saw an alley entrance blocked off by chain-link fencing. He scrambled up the fence, leaping down from the top, and bolting on to the safe, crowded streets of shopping district of Detroit beyond. Rick stopped at the fence, panting heavily as he glared after the smallish man. Snarling in frustration, he smacked the fence hard and shook his head.

"If I could just fly—"He began to mutter, but he realized how stupid that sounded and corrected him self. "If that little speedster was just a little slower, I would teach him a lesson about loyalty…"

But, seeing as how the chase was over, he turned away and walked away, already planning his route to a bar with a mug of beer to loose his anger in.

Toby mean while, saw that he was safe and slipped into a crowded second-hand store reeking of mothballs. Hiding in the corner between walls of cheap jewelry and behind a rack of moldy fur coats, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket.

"Hey, Josh," he said, "It's me, Toby, I got good and bad news."

"_What's the good news?"_ Detective Josh Owl on the other end of the line asked his partner.

"Good news," Toby began. "I found out where the crooks are running their dog-fighting business. Bad news; the guy I was tailing, Rick Spinster, found out who I was and now I can't show my face in public or else he's going to kill me--"

"_Can you calm down and say that again? You're talking too fast."_

"I _am _talking normal," the stool pigeon argued, but took a deep breath and repeated him self anyway. Towards the end, he teased John by speaking slowly.

"… This has been brought to you by Whale Speak Incorporated," he finished slowly. "Courtesy of Nemo—"

"_Shut up and get your ass back to the office, Toby,"_ Detective Owl laughed. _"I'll buy you a drink for the job well done."_

"See you there," Toby replied quickly before hanging up.

Once out of the shop, he decided that it was a nice day to enjoy a little exercise and bypassed the process of hailing a taxi, choosing instead to run back to the office instead.


	2. Traffic Jam

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network own Transformers Animated, everyone owns anything else recognizable. Except the story; that's mine.**

**Chapter 2: Traffic Jam**

Macbeth leaned back in the limo's driver seat, staring at the grey ceiling of the limo. He looked up when he heard feet approaching the luxury vehicle and saw his latest customer, yet another in-town, over-pampered, over-paid fashion model, approach. He quickly exited the limo and opened up one of the rear doors for the Spanish beauty to toss her shopping bags in and enter. She flicked her short black hair out of her eyes before slipping one long shapely leg into the limo and followed it up with the other. Macbeth assumed that she was imagining some dorky kid staring at her with holy music ringing in the background. Once she was in side, Macbeth shut the door gently behind her and got back into his driver's seat.

"Where to, ma'am?" Macbeth inquired automatically.

"The fashion studio, 1347 Star Lane," the woman replied, pulling an undergarment from one of the many bags sharing the back seat with her and rummaging under her white fur coat. Macbeth respectively kept his eyes fixed on the road as the model made yet another unnecessary between-locations outfit change. Honestly, Macbeth could understand that she was a model, but did she _really_ need to change every time she got into the limo?

A little while later, traffic came to a stand still on the main road, locking Macbeth in among several other cars.

"What is the meaning of this?" the model demanded, "Keep driving!"

"Traffic appears to have stopped, ma'am," Macbeth replied, his apologetic tone coming out as tired and annoyed, "I'll see what I can do."

"You better, or my time wasted comes out of _your_ pay!" the model snapped.

She slammed the screen between her and Macbeth shut and Macbeth sighed in annoyance. Spotting another limo from the same company as him locked in traffic further up the street he took the company cell phone from its place in the glove box apartment. Macbeth dialed in the number he could see stickered over the rear right tire. He spotted a series of nicks in the rear bumper and remembered that the limo belonged to a driver called Jimmy; he and Macbeth had been teamed up a couple of times on certain guard-and-drive assignments with large celebrities and Jimmy just never seemed to buff out his bumper scratches.

"Hey, Jimmy," Macbeth greeted when his call was answered. "It's Macbeth; I'm locked in traffic behind you. What's going on up there?"

"_What else?"_ Jimmy replied, his Brooklyn accent coming in clear over the air waves, _"Damn robots. Looks like the Autobot fellahs got into a scuffle with a living soda truck or something; you on a job?"_

"With one very impatient, change-loving Spanish model," Macbeth replied with a tired sigh.

"_Cool; try getting her phone number. We're gonna be here a while…"_

The Autobots: Who _didn't_ know about them in Detroit, or the world, for that matter? Ever since they had shown up around two or three years ago, life had been difficult for a motorist as the giant alien Transformers always seemed to be fighting their foes, the Decepticons, or some other monster. They had been shown on TV enough for Macbeth to connect names with faces and know a hint of personality.

First, there was Optimus Prime: the Autobot leader on Earth and one's poster boy of heroism.

Next: Bulkhead, the over-sized muscle head of the team who had dabbled in the arts world, revealing that he was a sensitive sort of guy with the giant's common capability for carnage.

Ratchet: The perfect cranky, rude-guy-next-door, and medic of the team.

Bumblebee: The youngest and most irresponsible member, who had even tried some boxing for charity once and Jazz: The only mech with any real status with in the Transformer military and, apparently, a ninja.

Finally, there was Sari Sumdac, daughter of Dr. Sumdac of Sumdac Productions and who, rumor had it, appeared to be more than human. This was more believed when the eleven year old suddenly turned into a teenager. Dr. Sumdac was very protective of her, though, and made sure that the media was as far away from her as the Transformers' home planet, Cybertron, was from Earth.

There had been one more: A stiff, British guy called Prowl, but he died. He had something going on with nature, Macbeth remembered that much. It's surprisingly easy to forget celebrities when they weren't around any more.

From what Macbeth had gleaned from the news reports, the Transformers were a race of super advanced, intelligent alien robots from a planet called Cybertron that had been in a civil war in which most of the robots fighting in it had been around longer than the Earth had been made. The good guy Autobots, defenders of the universe and Earth, were on one side and the bad guy Decepticons, who sought only domination and destruction, were on the other.

A few months ago, the Decepticons' leader, Megatron, had been defeated and captured by Optimus Prime and was now in some jail somewhere on Cybertron, turning the aforementioned Autobot team from zero-to-hero status. Now the same Autobot team hung out on Earth as a sign of good faith and further protecting Detroit from any monsters spawned by the rampant All Spark energy that had been scattered all over the place when the All Spark, the source of Transformer life, had been destroyed in a previous duel with Megatron.

But sometimes (like now), Macbeth wished that the Transformers would take their "good faith" home and let the human military take a shot at the monsters. At least then, half the city wouldn't be trashed taking out a bad guy while the humans were forced to wait in dead lock for the roads to open up again.

The slide behind Macbeth slammed open.

"What's taking so long?" the model snapped.

Macbeth took a deep breath, resisting the urge to snap the woman's neck with a swift karate chop, and prepared for a very long, annoying three hours…

- - - -

The Detroit Police Headquarters was bustling about in its usual way, moving criminals and victims alike in and out of the numerous interrogation rooms and holding cells, filling in and filing away paper work, or just generally shooting the breeze with fellow police men over cups of coffee. Charles was at his desk, doing his fair share of the paper work, when the main entrance door was suddenly kicked open, letting in three police men laden down with large crates. They were led by a mountain of a man with balding blond hair and a mustache. His light blue work shirt was already stained under the arms from the work, but he carried more crates than the other police men.

"Alright, boys and girls," he yelled out, "Everybody line up and get ready to pick out your new toys; Christmas came early this year!"

There were excited mummers as several people cleared away their desks to make room for the crates and people gathered around eagerly. Even Charles put down his pen to come and look.

Once in a great while, Captain Fanzone, the aforementioned mountain of a man, dropped his harsh, violent, hard-guy façade to get all his police men, his unofficial brothers and family members, new gear to work with. It was his way of saying "good job" to all his men and it was one of the things that made him bearable to work with. That, and ever since the Transformers had appeared, the government opened its wallet more for Detroit's police department; better than sending in official military forces and causing a panic.

Charles patiently waited until the crates were cleared enough to let him into them. People came away with new Billy clubs, tasers, shields, masks, helmets, gloves, boots, and all sorts of other gear. He even spotted a chainsaw among them, but quickly pretended not to see it in order to avoid imagining scenarios in which a _chainsaw_ would be necessary. When the crates were clear enough so that he wouldn't have to shove to get to them, he walked up to one.

Three flash grenades, four new pads of report sheets, _many_ pens and pencils, a pair of gloves with removable finger tips, and night vision goggles; nothing Charles didn't have already. He was about to leave it when he spotted something glittering under the gloves and goggles…

Moving the items away, Charles blinked in surprise at what he found. The officers on either side of him also blinked in surprise as Charles drew the new item out.

"Throwing stars?" Charles asked.

"Wow," the man to Charles' right laughed, "Are we going ninja or something, Fanzone?"

"Eh, I was in a rush so I just kinda took what was given to me and ran," Fanzone said, shrugging helplessly.

There were eight, circular, silver throwing stars sheathed in a black leather belt, positioned in a way that they could be drawn from any number of angles. Charles pulled a small tab at one end and the tab pulled out into a longer belt; he could strap the belt across his chest if he wanted to. He drew one of the stars and turned it around in his hand. It was light, sharp, and reflected Charles' warped, fuzzy image back at him.

"Amazing," Charles muttered.

"Hey, Charlie," one of police men asked, "Do you even know how to _use_ that thing?"

Charles thought about admitting that no, he couldn't, and just putting the stars back and taking the night vision goggles instead. But, before he even knew what he was doing, he flicked the star in a better position in his hand and flung it forward, as if he would a Frisbee. People ducked and dodged the small streak of silver as it flew past, snipping off the tip of a thug's Mohawk as he waited, handcuffed to a bench, and pinning itself into the forehead of a picture of Fanzone.

People applauded Charles' skills or laughed at the indignant look Fanzone got from where the star had landed. Charles smiled nervously, nodding to everyone's compliments as he went over to retrieve the star. How had he done that? Well, truth to tell, he had played a lot of Frisbee in the police academy; using a ninja throwing star wasn't all that different. He thought….

He sheathed the star back in its proper place and tied the belt around his waist.

"Alright, everyone," Fanzone shouted, clipboard in hand. "Show's over. Everyone come over here and tell me who got what for the paper work. If you want to switch or put something back, do it now or else suffer what ever rank or position change you'll get from your new _upgrades_."

_It's not the mods, but the mech who controls them that counts…_

No one saw Charles scowl in confusion.

_What,_ he wondered, _the __hell__ was that about?_

While the police men registered in their new gifts, Toby entered at the side of a tall, average-looking man in an over coat; Detective Josh Owl. Toby was talking a mile a minute.

"…There for, under Chapter 26, section C2, Paragraph 4, line 67," Toby was saying, "We can nail all three of them for theft, trespassing, animal cruelty, and laundering of charity money. And if we manage to get them locked up by this Labor Day, we can receive their full bounties and bonuses from the justice department!"

"I have no idea what you just said, but it sounds good," Detective Owl replied. "Did you have coffee today?"

"No."

"Then why the hell are you talking so fast?"

Toby stopped short, blinking in surprise, and scratched his head as he looked at the floor oddly.

"I don't know," he said in a regular-paced voice, "I just… seem to be doing that a lot lately."

"Since when?"

"Oh, about a month now. My ex left me because I couldn't stop talking fast. Communication issues and all; it was my fault."

"Well, just think before you speak and you'll do fine."

The two began walking again, but Toby accidentally ran face-first into a taller police man. His light brown eyes widened in surprise at seeing the throwing stars strapped to his chest.

"Holy--!" he exclaimed, "Is this a police force or the GI Joe squad!?"

"Just Christmas day at the police station," the police man chuckled before leaving the station.

- - - -

Mean while, Rick Biggens woke up in a trash pile in an alley way somewhere in Down Town Detroit: the slums that separated the decent Up Town from the ruined Old Detroit. He looked around at the abandoned street, already sensing de ja vu about the situation; he had been in it many times before. Like all the other times he had woken up in an alley's trash pile, he closed his eyes, placed a hand to his aching head, and asked himself the age-old question.

"What happened last night?" he groaned.

His memory started just like it usually did with this question: With him in a bad mood and gulping down beer in an attempt to dissolve the hard rock in his stomach. A woman approached him, he blew her off, and she stomped away in a huff. Like usual. Some poor sap in a mid-life crises came in, sobbed on his shoulder until he was drunk, and was escorted out. Like usual. Some crappy jazz or rock band came on, and the beer finally kicked in, making him flirt with someone younger than him through a haze of alcohol before she blew him off. Like usual. Finally, closing time came around and out side of the bar in the parking lot, he was approached by some thugs he had forgotten he had pissed off and he fought them.

Like usual.

That explained the bruises, that explained the hangover, that explained his _life_; an endless cycle of screwing people over for money, getting drunk, fighting, and waking up bruised and bloodied in a trash pile, though whether he fell in it or was flung into it was interchangeable. It was almost disappointing.

Sighing, Rick hauled himself to his feet. He mentally ran through his default plan of hobbling back to his apartment for coffee, shower, and a nap before finding out who he could hire himself out to that day as a hit man, a body guard, a get away driver, an _anything_. Along the way, he would probably question why he didn't finish high school, only to remember that he could never take orders, even from his teachers and—

A wave of dizziness swept over Rick and blew off his train of thought, making him fall against the rough brick wall with a small cry of pain as he clutched his head with both hands and a fresh flood of memories swept into his head.

- - - -

_There had been four of them; beefy, hairy, and dressed in winter coats in spite of the warm spring weather. The parking lot had quickly emptied of the other bar tenders once they were turned out, but Rick had found himself surrounded by these guys with no one to help him. It was hard enough to see in the dim lighting of the sole street lamp in the parking lot sober, let alone drunk. Words had been exchanged while Rick reeled on drunken feet, completely aware of what was about to happen and ready for it. Then the men had attacked and Rick had fought, already knowing that it would be difficult for his unsteady fists to hit anything properly._

_But then, strangely, a hot fire suddenly filled Rick's limbs, unlike adrenaline or fear or anger. The fire burned his hands, making him want to cuss in pain, but his throat clamped up, making him mute. Suddenly, his fists struck out on their own accord, slamming into one of the attackers' face twice and instantly knocking him out. The remaining three men had gawped in shock at the sudden turn of skill. But suddenly, Rick was annoyed and angry at these disgusting men's defiance._

_Spinning around, he had punched a second man in the head before spinning around one more time, bringing a foot up, and kicking him in the face. The other men snapped into action and charged him. Easily he had placed his hands on top of their heads as they came and launched him self over them, doing a front flip and forcing them to overbalance and fall, face-first, onto the pavement. He had crouched then stood even as the three men regained their composure and struck. He ducked and weaved the punches and grabs, only to come up and punch one of the men right under the chin. His teeth had clacked together painfully before he had been flung back and went sprawling across the pavement._

"_Two down, two to go," Rick had snickered in a voice completely not his own._

_The remaining two aggressors charged and Rick had easily ducked between them, under their swinging arms._

"_Oh, this is just __too__ easy," the strange voice had snickered again._

_The two attackers turned ready to get at Rick one more time. But Rick would have none of it and proved it by back flipping high up into the air. The two attackers froze, dropping their jaws at how high Rick went—was it even humanely possible!?—Before he landed with a loud thump on top of one of the men, slamming his head into the pavement while he landed on their back. The final man, seeing his comrade fall and the inhumane abilities of Rick, had cried out and turned to run. Now the memory blurred, and when it came back Rick had the man trapped in a head lock in an alley way._

"_What makes you think that you could fight me!?" the strange voice in Rick's mouth snarled, "What makes you think that you could just pick on me?"_

"_I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" the man yelled, tears streaming from his eyes. "We won't bother you no more, please, spare me!"_

"_Aww, you're begging," the strange voice had cooed. "I __would__ let you go, but I'm in a bad mood…"_

_The man had screamed and gone limp in a faint. The strange voice had dropped the prone form and cackled, echoing its vile, cruel sound into the empty alley ways of the slum town and sounding like some maniac in a ghost story._

- - - -

Rick yanked himself out of the flash back with a loud gasp, dropping to his knees on the dirty pavement.

"That—that _couldn't_ have been me," he panted, "I only fight! I don't go _chasing_ fights and scaring the living jack out of people! What—what—what _happened_ last night??"

He jumped when his cell phone rang, drawing him back to reality. Quickly, he drew the phone out of his pocket and answered.

"Yeah?" he panted, "Who-who is this?"

"_Ricky, my man, how's it been going?"_

It was Phineus; Rick's closest friend in the streets and unofficial manager. Phineus usually scored jobs for him and Rick. People suspected him of being a druggie or at least crazy because of his personality and energy, but Ricky could vouch against that accusation, having never seen Phineus doing anything so idiotic.

"It's been going… fine," Ricky said hesitantly. "What's up?"

"_You're__ what's up, Rick!"_ was the heart-stopping response. _"Everyone's talking about your bout with the Canadian guys last night! Wham, bam, pow, wow! You really did all that?"_

"Uh… did all what?" Rick asked.

"_Haha, love the sense of humor, big guy. Listen, because of the nice __show__ you put up last night, I got guys from as far as __Up Town__ Detroit asking for our, eh heh, 'services'."_

_What am I supposed to say to that?_ Rick wondered, _That I __lost my mind__ last night and did some jacked up stuff that I would never do sober and sane?_

But something in him gave him a literal mental kick, making him sit up in surprise while his mouth spat out the first thing he could think of.

"Great, who are we doing what for first?" he asked.

It made little sense, but Phineus chuckled on the other end of the line and replied, _"Meet me out side of the oil refinery tonight at seven. We're gonna be body bouncers at some high and mighty guys' rather low poker game. And get some rest; we're gonna have a __long__ night ahead of us."_

The line went dead and after a moment, Rick closed his cell phone and slowly pulled himself to his feet. He looked around, as if to make sure no one was actually there and had kicked him. Rick exited the alley way and the late morning sun instantly attacked his eyes, reminding him of his hangover. A sharp pain like a stabbing finger nail pressed itself into the center of Rick's forehead and he groaned, closing his eyes as he rubbed the spot.

"Screw this," he muttered, walking down the street, "I'm _way_ to hung over to make sense of anything…"

- - - -

It wasn't hard for Blitzwing to find Shockwave; while the dampener the Decepticon spy carried may keep him out of detection of Autobots, the same was not said for Decepticon scanners. Blitzwing had only to hope that the signal dampener he had stolen from the Autobots would keep _him_ shielded, and it had. Now he zoned in on Shockwave's signal, flying down to the crashed Decepticon spaceship on the dark side of the Earth's moon. The purple and tan jet flew down to a large gapping hole in the ship and transformed, landing easily on the dust-strewn floor with in. His Random side came out.

"Shocky, I'm _hooooome!_" he called.

A lone red optic glowed into life in the shadows and out of it strode a tall, broad-shouldered, slim dark purple mech with bug-like antennae and claws for hands.

"Greetings, Blitzwing," the other mech greeted. "I trust that you have a good reason to show your face around here after escaping your prison, but leaving our glorious leader, Megatron, to rot in jail?"

The over-energetic Blitzwing turned into his calm personality.

"Yes," he replied, and proceeded to tell Shockwave about the failed escape plane.

"Unbelievably," Shockwave replied, "It appears that the Autobots are getting smarter."

"But not by too much!" Blitzwing's energetic side exclaimed, "After all, you're good, but not good enough to be hidden in the enemy ranks for eons unless the Autobots are complete idiots--!"

"That's my point, Blitzwing," Shockwave sighed tiredly.

He turned away and walked over to a computer, whacking it once with one of his large claws to get it started, then began to type on it.

"I holed my self up here awaiting for such orders to come when Lord Megatron was captured," Shockwave said. "Already there are many Decepticons just waiting for the calling beacon to be sounded out. The hardest part will be the creation of a means of getting Megatron out of that cursed Stockades place…"

"We will figure something out," Blitzwing's calmest side promised. "The fate of the Decepticon destiny is in the balance."

"And the life of our glorious leader," Shockwave agreed, pulling a microphone to himself. Into it, he called, "Attention all Decepticons, this is Shockwave, intelligence officer of the Decepticons: If you are receiving this message, I have some news for you.

"Our glorious leader, Lord Megatron, has not been privately executed, as rumors would lead you to believe. He is alive, but we must all come together and act as one to plan and act upon an operation to free Lord Megatron from his prison. If you still wear the Decepticon symbol proudly, then come to me! Come to the source of this call that way we may band as one to spring our glorious leader from prison and take vengeance on the Autobots and they who jailed him!"

All across the universe Decepticons heard. They awoke from naps in their star ships, they looked up from where they were digging up oil and energon on abandoned planets, they turned away from their shared gambling games, stepped away from the shadows they were slinking in, and briefly scanned the air waves, pin pointing where the private message was coming from. Upon detecting it, they came. They turned into their alt-forms and sped across abandoned landscapes to their starships. They activated their starships and rushed to Shockwave's location, or turned into their avian modes and came on the flying Transformers' version of foot to answer the call. They had nothing else to live for, and had no one else to serve but their glorious Lord Megatron.

That, and they wanted some action.


	3. Poker Raid

**Disclaimer: Cartoon Network and Hasbro owns TFA. Any and all additional culture references, such as songs, celebrities, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 3: Poker Raid**

Nine o' clock at night and most of Detroit was slumbering peaceful in their drone-made beds. Emphasis on "most".

In a backroom at the police station, where crooks and victims alike still came in and out

frequently, twenty to thirty police men and women were chatting together in full uniform, discussing the raid that was scheduled for that night. In the front of the room was a large dry erase white board with an electronic projector positioned a ways in front of it. Officer Charles was among the assembled police and speaking with his two best friends on the force: a woman by the name of Jessie Apples and, humorously enough, a man by the name of James Bananas. Their names were a common joke in the department. They were currently talking about a popular subject: The Autobots and Decepticons.

"Yeah," James said, "Where _are_ those guys? Nothing's blown up lately."

"They're just chilling out is what I heard," Jessie said. "With the Decepticons gone and most of the vigilante whack jobs in jail, they have nothing to fight against. Guess that's fortunate for the insurance companies, eh?"

"Yeah, but not for the construction businesses," Charles joked, "They've been making a killing from all the stuff falling over!"

The group laughed at the dumb joke. At that moment, Captain Fanzone entered the room. He flicked the lights off and turned the electronic projector on as he shouted.

"Alright, alright," he yelled, "Quiet down, we got some final preps to make before we do this—"

He spun the remote to the projector around and pointed it over his shoulder as he pressed a button on the remote. He jumped and yelled in surprise when, rather than turn on to slide show mode, a couple of fighting street cats appeared on the screen, courtesy of the Discovery channel.

Recognizing this as Fanzone's bad luck with electronics, every one laughed as he turned and furiously swatted the projector with the remote and insulted its intelligence and mother. Charles found himself enchanted with the sleek lightening moves and reflexes of the cats while the others enjoyed the display of technology abuse that Fanzone was expressing. Charles was sad to see the felines replaced with a slide show image of a large, abandoned oil refinery.

Seeing that he had won the battle, Fanzone turned back to the police and cleared his throat as he regained his composure.

"Alright," he began, "We'll be raiding the Old Detroit Oil Refinery tonight. The refinery was shut down thirty years ago when its methods went out of date and since has been a headquarters for many rough parties, from under aged, gangster-wannabe kids, druggies, homeless, and even costumed clowns like the Angry Archer and the Society of Ultimate Villainy.

"Recently, thanks to Detective Josh Owl and his partner, Toby Freeman, we have evidence and a warrant to raid the abandoned buildings. What we're looking for is a collection of the city's darkest and more crooked men and women to stroll our streets. They always start their meetings with a poker game before going on to discuss more 'important' things, like weapons and drugs trafficking and other illegal activities. We have reason to believe that they may be selling some rather nasty and poisonous metals for nuclear fighting tonight, so we gotta get in and get them _tonight_ before those metals get anywhere serious.

"It's a simple tag-and-bag operation: We go in, we grab them, and get them behind bars. No fatalities, and withdraw if it looks like you or any of your buddies are gonna be. Use some sense and caution, and let's make our city a little safer. Any questions?"

There were none.

"Then let's roll!" Fanzone bellowed.

"Heh," Charles chuckled to James and Jessie, "For a moment there, I thought he would say 'Transform and roll out'."

"Like what that fire truck Autobot does with the robots?" James asked.

"Oh, Charles," Jessie chuckled, "You're such a funny guy! I don't see why you don't have a girlfriend!"

"Alright, will you just ask him out already??" James exclaimed, "Seriously, you've been crushing on him ever since you got here!"

"I'll ask him out when I'm good and ready," Jessie said, sticking her tongue out at James.

Charles smiled and shook his head at the banter as the cops filed out of the room. He grimaced when a small pain appeared in his chest. It was a dull ache that he had been feeling off and on for several weeks now.

_Hope it doesn't get too serious tonight,_ Charles thought, following the others out to the garage. _I should really talk to a doctor about this…_

Five minutes later, all the police were in their cars and on their motorcycles with three SWAT team vans, cruising Detroit's streets on their way to the less-than-glamorous part of town. Charles was one of the leading motorcycle riders. While his helmet and shades shielded his face not only from the wind, but from being read by his fellow law enforcers, he still kept his face as still as stone while he occasionally rubbed the aching spot in his chest.

The police were concerned with their own affairs and hence, failed to notice the lights of a light brown and dark purple fighter jet accompanied with a dark green and purple cargo plane pass by over head.

"Remember," the jet cautioned the cargo plane. "The metals that Shockwave needs have been detected in the abandoned oil refinery that we are going to. There will be humans there, but all we are going to be doing is retrieving the metals and _that is it_." The jet suddenly turned into a tank.** "So don't go blasting every little thing that moves! We have no time to shake the Autobots off of us!"**

"Tanks can't fly," was all that the cargo plane grunted in response.

The tank's barrel pointed downward then yelped in fear before turning back into a jet.

"Thank you," the jet said.

"You're welcome."

- - - -

Fired. He had been fired, and for what; because the Spanish model forgot her purse in one of the stores. How the hell was that _his_ fault!?

Macbeth resisted the urge to run a fellow late-night motorist off the road as he sped his slightly used Pontiac around a slow night driver. The fact that the most direct road to his apartment building was closed for construction and hence, he would have to take a really, really, _really_ long way around was _not_ helping Macbeth's mood.

A large troop of police and SWAT vehicles sped around and past Macbeth, disappearing over a hill in the road and going on into the dark night. That was common enough in a city constantly being attacked by monsters, and Macbeth took no notice of it as he continued stewing to himself, often dissolving into his native Russian tongue in rage.

_First she wastes her entire day going from one store to another then she looses her purse and blames it on __me??_ _It's not like __I__ moved it! And she's only in Detroit for this one time, __ever__, and I __still__ get fired like she was a valued customer that I hurt or something! Damnit, what the hell!? I've been working for that company for __years__ now with a spotless record and deserve better. But no, I got fired, and now I have to drive ten miles around the city and construction zones just to get home!! Damnit, I should __really__ start walking or just learn to roller blade to take alley way short cuts…_

Macbeth suddenly spotted an old oil refinery coming up on his left, right on the bank of the river. The enormous, ancient buildings were usually fenced off, but tonight the fence gates had been knocked open. On the river side of the refinery, he saw the red and blue lights of police, but the land-side of the refinery was dark and abandoned save for numerous tanks that had been emptied of their oil long ago.

If he continued on the road, across the bridge, he would be home in another thirty minutes. But if he just took this opportunity to cut across the refinery, he would be home in a little under ten.

Deciding that it would be worth a ticket, he turned into the open gates.

- - - -

The police and SWAT members had acted quickly and silently. They drove up to the oil refinery as quietly as possible, parking their vehicles around all possible exits. Charles had quickly dismounted his motorcycle and he and the other two-wheel riders had gathered together and entered the back part of the refinery that they had been ordered to take care of. Inside, the oil refinery was dark and as silent as the grave. Charles did a final check-over of his equipment: Club, handcuffs, an emergency bandage, a gun with two spare clips, and, of course, his new throwing stars, mainly just to scare opponents.

Satisfied, he moved into the building. His comrades split up as they came to different path ways and halls in the refinery. It wasn't long before Charles had exited the graffiti-covered walls of the business area of the refinery and entered the enormous cavern of a room making up the main machine areas. Cat walks criss-crossed over head around enormous tanks and machines slowly rusted into nothing from mis-use. The light of the half-full moon outside drifted down through the large windows, lighting the room with an eerie, haunted glow.

Charles found the targets immediately: Six men and women were gathered around a table set up in the middle of the dark factory, lit by some fancy lamp stands. Someone had even set up a bar near by, complete with a bar tender who polished glasses while the people at the table talked and played cards. Body guards loomed in the shadows around the poker players, keeping an eye on the poker players and ready to defend their charges. Near them, on a separate table, three suitcases the size of a folded up cots were resting, waiting for their turn to be important.

"This is Officer Charles," Charles whispered into his walkie talkie. "I've located the targets."

"_This is Captain Fanzone,"_ Fanzone replied over the 'talkie. _"Wait on my mark…"_

Charles drew his gun and hid behind a control board. Adrenaline began to pump into his system, making his cold body sweat and his limbs tremble in excitement. This was the part of the job that got him hooked: The taut, long moments waiting for the order to explode into action and take down the bad guys. Most guys would call it 'nerve wracking', but Charles called it wonderfully suspenseful. Any moment now, the order would come to jump up, gun aiming, and start the action… any moment…

But before that moment came, the windows rattled briefly as the sound of approaching planes roared over head, and a brief moment of silence followed.

Then the robots dove into the warehouse.

- - - -

Rick had been bored out of his mind. Even though he had dressed in his toughest-looking black leather shoes and jacket and dark jeans to look tough for the body guard job, he had quickly realized what a stupid idea it was when the same look had been adopted by the other body guards.

Hence, even though he crossed his arms and glared at the other bodyguards like he was seriously ready to break bones, inside, he was sighing and constantly checking one of the poker players' watch time and time again to see how far it was until he could get paid and go home.

He didn't even bother listening to names much less etch in descriptions or even the vague appearance of the criminal poker players in his head. It wasn't only because he was bored, but because he would truthfully be able to admit that he didn't know what they looked like should he get caught by police on a later date. Which reminded him; he had to get his hands on Phineus some how and knock the little jerk's head off for scoring him such a boring job.

The point being was that Rick was bored being the bodyguard of one of the people in the truly ordinary gathering of criminals. But things quickly changed at approximately 11:50.

That was when the Decepticons crashed the party.

Metal and glass shredded and shattered over head, raining shrapnel down on them. Bodyguards and poker players alike panicked and ran every which way in terror. Rick himself jumped behind an oil tank in surprise, drawing his gun instinctively. A mechanical noise like activating gears sounded out in the silence following the explosion of glass and metal. He heard large forms step on glass and steel, making it crack and creak. Some of the crook poker players and body guards were whimpering in their hiding places. Rick dared not look out from his hiding place, not because of fear, but because of embarrassment of letting the Decepticons see him. Strange, what did he care what a bunch of robots thought of him? Even with this reasoning, though, Rick found his body unable to move.

"Oh, look, Lugnut, they look like so many little mice!" a crazed German electronic voice laughed. "Can I squeesh some of them?"

"No, Blitzwing!" a deeper voice snarled, "The rescue of our glorious leader, Megatron, depends on our retrieval of these metals!"

Whir-click!

"**Oh shut up and have a little fun, Lugnut,"** a deep voice snarled. Whir-click! "Besides, it's not like giant, destructive transforming robots can be stealthy, anyway!"

A little ways away from Rick, Charles had flung him self into the shadows of some equipment and gapped at the enormous robots that had burst into the refinery. A strange frustration was writhing in him whining that he could do nothing against the Decepticons. What was he thinking!? He couldn't do anything against a typical police drone, let alone a Decepticon!! Crud, what did this mean for the police raid?

The larger of the two invaders, a giant golem of dark purple in body with dark green limbs, bent over the table with the three suitcases. In spite of having only two large, flat plates for fingers, the robot expressed amazing dexterity by picking up the suitcases and slipping them into a compartment in its chest. The larger mech turned its single brightly glowing red optic to its comrade.

"There, now we may return and continue plotting our leader's spectacular return!" the large mech crowed.

This time, the humans were more humored than terrorized.

"Oh, _please_," Rick muttered.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," Charles muttered, placing a hand to his head and shaking it.

Both of the robots became stiff when they heard sirens sounding out.

"**The Autobots!"** the robot that had been called Blitzwing snarled.

"Hurry, we must leave before all is lost!" Lugnut exclaimed.

"**Shut up!"** Blitzwing snarled.

The hidden humans ducked as the Blitzwing robot's shoulder cannons dropped down, pointing straight ahead, and released two enormous spires of fire at the wall. The enormous streams of flame swirled and curled in bursts of yellow, red, and orange, lighting up the refinery with a camp fire glow. If one had taken a picture of the scene, one of the words in the picture would probably be "bad ass".

The canon flames instantly melted the wall and left behind an enormous opening. As the two robots charged out, Rick heard the starting gun shots of the humans fighting each other. Apparently, the other hired guards for the poker game had been found out and were having a bit of an argument with the police.

"That's my signal to leave," Rick said to himself.

He stood and bolted away through the ruined refinery, pausing only to steal a couple bottles of booze from the abandoned bar before leaving. Behind him, Charles stood with his back to Rick completely missing Rick's exit.

"_Charles, get your back end out here!"_ Fanzone yelled over the walkie talkie, _"These guys got automatics with them!"_

"I'll come up from behind," Charles said, running in the opposite direction of Rick towards the source of the gunshots.

- - - -

John Macbeth had found that driving through the refinery was tougher than he expected. All sorts of heavy equipment and old, abandoned cars were all over the place, turning the path into a maze. So focused was he on maneuvering this maze and grumbling to himself that he was not aware that anything was amiss until the wall of the refinery a way to the front and right of him suddenly emitted enormous flames. He slammed on his brakes, coming to a screeching halt, and dropped his jaw as two enormous robots came out of the hole left behind the flames.

His unprepared, overwhelmed mind only registered general facts: Tall, metallic, powerful, enormous, strong, glowing red eyes, a demon-canine-hawk insignia, and an air of malice and confident power radiating from the two titans of steel. In short: capable of stomping on him and scraping his remains off on the side of something like a bug.

One had only one eye, which tuned up to look at something behind Macbeth. Macbeth didn't even bother looking back at what the titan was looking at. The one-eyed giant clenched a fist, raising it high over head before slamming it down into the ground with a tremendous shake and crashing sound. Too late did Macbeth realize the threat of this action and too late did he attempt to escape.

Even as John Macbeth saw a white field of light expand from the massive green and purple robot's punching fist, he set the car in reverse and lifted his foot to slam on his car's gas pedal in a vain attempt to save himself. But already it was too late as the white field of raw power rushed past Macbeth on its quest to better things. Macbeth saw and _felt_ the energy go right through his car's engine block, completely destroying it. He saw the growing fur of fire that appeared on the hood of his car as gas ignited in his car's engine. But before that same fire could reach the gas tank beneath him and send the car leaping into the sky like some startled cartoon character, Macbeth himself was consumed by the blast.

He was unsure of what happened to his body. One moment he was in it, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles while adrenaline made him immune to things like hesitation. The next, he found himself being spun around and dragged wildly up into the white-energy-filled air. At first he thought his limbs had gone limp and were just flapping around like rag doll arms until he realized that he _had_ no limbs, much less a body. He was flipped around and around in the air, being dragged about like a leaf in the storm with no body and no clue as to what was happening.

Then things got worse: _Much_ worse.

From the white and blue energy surrounding him, he saw a huge figure suddenly towering out of the crackling cloud. The energy distorted colors and shape, but he could clearly see a humanoid shape of the figure and saw the face changing, now a demonic red and black apparition, now a snarling red-faced beast, and now a cold image of death's mask. He was too terrified to see it as other wise, and while it had failed to notice one as insignificant and helpless as he, he was being pulled _towards_ it. Had he the lungs and mouth to scream, he would have screamed. Had he the body to struggle with, he would have struggled. Had he merely a flag or _something_ to show that he was there and make the larger figure act in his favor he would have waved that flag. But of these he had none and hence was carried, helplessly, up and into the figure's chest…


	4. Head Guest

**Disclaimer: Cartoon Network and Hasbro owns TFA. Any and all additional culture references, such as songs, celebrities, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 4: Head Guest**

_Is our guest awake yet?_

_**What's it look like, moron?**_

_*It appears that he is coming around. Give him some room…*_

At first, Macbeth was not sure he had opened his eyes because he saw no difference between the darkness behind his eyes and the black void that he found himself lying on his back in. For a long moment, all he could think about dumbly was where he was. Then his vision sharpened into focus and suddenly "where" didn't matter as much as "who he was with".

The three people standing over him all appeared to have the same body; A light brown military-like body with black and dark purple accents. They wore desert helmets with flaps hanging from the backs with raised lenses like goggles on top. All had jet wings hanging from their backs and long gun barrels on their shoulders and _all were robots._

As if _that_ wasn't terrifying enough already, each had a different face: One had a long angular pale blue face. Another was as red as a bad sun burn with a red visor and a gap in his teeth, exposed in a seemingly permanent growling scowl. The last face was that of a black jack-o-lantern with red, mis-sized eyes and mouth. All three faces were currently looking down at Macbeth curiously, like kids finding a weird animal sleeping in the backyard.

Macbeth jumped to his feet with a shout and attempted to back away, but the blue-faced one stepped behind him, preventing a retreat. Looking up, Macbeth realized that he just barely became eye-level with the large robot's chest plating. He could feel himself trembling in fear now, but the adrenaline hardly allowed him to register that fact while he continued to look around fearfully for a sign, _any _sign, as to what was going on here. But beyond himself and his strange companions, they were in a boundless black void.

_Oh, dear God, where am I?_ Macbeth asked, not liking how his voice came out as a sort of air-filled echo.

_*In my head,*_ the blue-faced robot behind Macbeth replied. _*I am Blitzwing, soldier and tactician of the Decepticon army, and these are my aspects and personalities: Hot Head, the angry one,*_ he gestured towards the red-faced mech. _*Random; the crazy one*_

_But we're all crazy!_ Random cackled.

_*And me, Cold, the so-called "main" aspect,*_ the blue-faced robot finished off.

He gently shoved Macbeth away and placed his fists on his hips.

_*Now,*_ Cold Blitzwing began, _*Do me the favor of explaining--*_

_**How the slag an organic mind infiltrated my consciousness and is running amok in **__**my**__** head!?**_ Hot Head roared into Macbeth's face.

Macbeth reared back from Hot Head's face, but found a come back waiting for Hot Head. After all, after fear comes the anger to hide the fear.

_Well excuse me,_ he snapped back, _but it's no picnic for me to be trapped in some __whack job's__ body! And besides, it looks like you have room for one more!_

_Ooh, good one!_ Random laughed. _But this is an invite-only party, so if you don't have an invitation—_

_**Get out!!**_Hot Head yelled.

_Great, show me the door and I'll be glad to leave this loony bin! _ Macbeth charged back.

_Ooh, there's a door? Can I go through it, can I? Can I? Can I?_ Random pleaded.

_*There __is__ no door,*_ Cold sighed, massaging a head ache in the center of his forehead. _*Truth to tell, I was hoping that __you__ would know how to get out seeing as how __you__ are the one who got in my head.*_

_Well, I don't really know how I got in here,_ Macbeth admitted. _Last thing I remember, I was just driving home on a short cut when I saw a couple of robots, then I got caught up in the light emitted when the bigger one punched the ground and next thing I know, _he shrugged, _I am here_.

The Blitzwing mechs all looked at each other, then Cold and Hot Head slapped palms to their foreheads and growled while Random started laughing.

_*That was Lugnut,*_ Cold explained.

_**The idiot never warns us before the punch!**_ Hot Head snarled, _**No matter how times we tell him! And every time he uses it he gets us in trouble!**_

_And because of it, we got a new friend!_ Random chuckled, which earned him chastising from the other two mechs.

_So, when you say "aspects"_, Macbeth said to Cold, _I'm confused, are you all one person or what?_

_*We are one person, but we each have some degree of independent thought,*_ Cold replied. Sighing, he strode over to the side._*I am going to see about waking us up. Perhaps Shockwave will know what to do…*_

Cold lifted his hands and began to type seemingly on air. The fuzzy, shifting out line of a control council appeared, changing colors and brightening up and dimming down, depending on how fast and where Cold typed. Macbeth noted that the numerous buttons and switches just rushed about, constantly changing and moving. How did _that_ work? Maybe it was a sort of imagination-guided tool of self-control? And, wait, if Macbeth was inside a giant robot's head, how did he _get_ here?

Random appeared beside Macbeth, making him jump with a small yelp away from him in surprise.

_Hey, I like your accent, what is it?_ Random asked.

_A light Russian,_ Macbeth replied, _my family, from my parents back, was Russian, and my grandfather brought me to America when I was small._

_**Stop socializing with the human, Random!**_ Hot Head snarled; _**It's gross and undignified!**_

_True, but there has to be something special about him if he's in our head,_ Random pointed out.

_You're__ undignified with __that__ face,_ Macbeth snapped at Hot Head.

Random laughed in approval and Hothead spluttered helplessly.

_*Ah, here we go,* _Cold commented as a bright swatch of light appeared in front of him.

- - - -

Shockwave turned when he heard the hum of charging engines and saw Blitzwing sit up on the table he had been lain on. He was relived to see that Cold was in control at the moment. The last thing he wanted was to have Hot Head jumping up, roaring and still in the heat of battle, or worse, Random, who was always ready to just _drive Shockwave insane._

"Ah, Blitzwing, you're awake," Shockwave greeted. "You were a bit too close to the vats of explosive material at the plant when Lugnut used his punch and you were knocked clear off your stabilizing servos. There appears to be no physical damage, but I wanted to wait until you awoke just to make sure."

"I have a human in my head," Blitzwing stated.

Shockwave's antennae dropped and rose up again in surprise.

"Elaborate," he ordered.

Blitzwing's face disappeared in a whirl of changing gears, becoming the jack-o-lantern face of Random.

"I became mentally active and my body was still off line, and there was a human lying on the floor of my mind like some drunken has-been Autobot! He's cute, I wanna keep him and call him Stalin!"

The face whirled around and Hot Head appeared and snarled, **"Just get the gross thing out of my mind!"**

"It just _had_ to happen to you, Blitzwing," Shockwave muttered, face palming. "Alright, back on the table, I'll hook you up…"

A few minutes later, a section of Blitzwing's helmet had been removed and Shockwave had connected several cables to the processor with in. Turning the laboratory's four large computer screens, he tapped at the control keyboard. Three of the screens snapped to life, briefly showing static before the two Blitzwing personalities that were not in control of the body appeared and, a vision that made even Shockwave shudder in pity for Blitzwing, a human.

Macbeth, in side Blitzwing's head, saw a giant screen appear, picturing what Blitzwing could see through his own optics and saw his own image projected on the screen. When ever the Blitzwing aspects switched positions at the control area, they would take over the body in the real world, and every move they made in the control area was copied by the real body. They never made signals to switch; one just stepped out and another stepped in.

_Wow,_ he said, _it's like watching TV with the Super Bowl jumbo-tron._

Shockwave heard Macbeth through the computer screen and spoke to him directly, "Human, how have you come to be inside Blitzwing's head?"

In spite of his nervousness, Macbeth once again told his story about how he was dragged into Blitzwing's mind.

"So, apparently," Shockwave diagnosed, "Lugnut's punch accidentally set off some sort of telepathic series of events that resulted in your mind slipping into Blitzwing's. Detroit is running rampant with All Spark energy; I can imagine that some of it must have caused such a slippage of organic into mechanical minds. This is a most unusual turn of events."

Hot Head pulled Cold from the apparent cock pit of the body, thus putting Cold's image on the screen as Hot Head's face replaced Cold's on the body.

"**I don't care how it happened,"** he snarled, **"Just get the slagger out of me!"**

_I'm all for that plan, but how do we do it?_ Macbeth asked.

"I may be able to remove the human mind and put it—"

_Him_, Macbeth corrected. _I'm male._

"I may be able to put the human back with in _his_ own body," Shockwave tried again, shooting a look at the image of Macbeth on screen, "With a little research of the human mind. Humans are primitive enough creatures compared to Transformers; I will merely have to read up on the human mind and processor, or brain, as you call it, and find your body, or a computer drive. But Lugnut's punch creates enormous craters where it is cast. It will be a miracle if such a weak fleshling shell survived such a power."

_What if it didn't?_ Macbeth asked.

"Place your conscious in a fleshie body, in a mechanical body, or just delete it," Shockwave waved a claw-hand dismissively, "It matters not how, just as long as we get you out of Blitzwing's head. He has enough issues as it is."

While Cold had enough control not to express his relief, Random punched the air with both fists. Hot Head growled at Shockwave's statement.

_Woo hoo!_ Random whooped, _I won't have a dumb organic in my head!_

Hot Head stepped aside from the cock pit area without a word, letting Cold once more take control of the body.

"How soon until you complete this task, Shockwave?" Cold Blitzwing asked.

"Like I said; it should be a relatively simple process," Shockwave stated, "With in Earth's time limits; a week, two at most."

_Two weeks,_ Macbeth groaned, rubbing his head.

Hot Head jumped into control and declared, **"Two weeks!? I want this little puny insect out of me **_**now**_**!"**

"Just be patient, Blitzwing," Shockwave replied, unplugging the cords from Blitzwing's head. "And this next week or so will pass quickly."

"**It better,"** Hot Head snarled, jumping to his feet to tower over Shockwave. **"Or **_**you'll**_** get to see what it's like having an organic in your head!"**

Thus speaking, Cold took over for Hot Head and calmly strode out of the room. Shockwave shook his head, not even bothering to waste logic data on Blitzwing's warning.

- - - -

Charles was too glad to get off duty the morning after the raid. With the reappearance of the Decepticons in Detroit, the media was a mad house once again and had swarmed the police station, begging for quotes from Fanzone and the police that had been in the raid. If the reporters weren't a bunch of mechanical toys doing what was programmed into them, Charles would have stayed behind and gladly answered their questions. Hell, if there had been an actual human woman reporting, he would have _begged_ for an interview! Maybe even get a phone number from a pretty she-reporter!

But instead, the news outlets had merely sent their drones and hence, made the questioning an annoying nuisance that Charles decided that he had to avoid at all cost. The problem was that the media drones and camera bots had surrounded the police headquarters.

"Look at this place!" James exclaimed as he, Jessie, and Charles hid in an upstairs office room void of its inhabitant while they looked down at the crowds of reporters and police below. "It's a mad house!"

"How are we going to get out of here?" Jessie asked. "I have a manicure appointment at noon and it's already nine!"

"I think we can get out just fine," Charles said. "The garage has a lower roof and it's close; it shouldn't be any chore to just jump from a window and onto the roof." He stopped short. "Wait, what did I just say?"

"You said, 'hey, I'm delusional, let's go kill ourselves,'" Was Jessie's reply. "I just said 'hey, what a great idea! Come on!'"

"Er, I wasn't serious!" Charles exclaimed as Jessie grabbed James and Charles and led the way out of the room. "I'm tired and, uh, kinda tired so, uh, don't listen to me! I'm not serious!!"

"A word to the wise, gentlemen," Jessie said, entering another room looking over the very near roof of the parking garage. "Never keep a girl from her nail appointment."

She opened a window over looking the garage and sat on its edge, carefully checking the gap. Satisfied, she winked and stuck her tongue out at the men as she flashed them the peace sign.

"Toodle-loo, boys!" she said cheerfully before jumping.

The men rushed over to the window in time to see Jessie land and roll on the parking garage roof. She sat up and waved to them cheerfully, laughing at the looks of shock the men were carrying. James turned and walked to the other end of the room. Charles moved aside.

"Well," James said, turning as he rubbed is hands. "_I_ got a date to get to. Wish me luck, Charles. And if I die, take care of my cat, Mandy, will ya? Thanks."

Before Charles could respond, James ran forward and launched himself, screaming, through the window. Charles flinched at the whump noise emitted when James landed on the garage roof, but saw that Jessie was helping the breathless James to his feet.

"God, what ever gave me this idea?" Charles whined, climbing onto the windowsill.

Looking down, Charles was greeted with the sight of a narrow alley way three stories below. If he fell, half of him would be scrapped off on the brick walls before he landed on the pavement below. The total distance between the window and the garage roof appeared seven meters at a slanted angle. Some wind rushed by him and he leaned back, closing his eyes and swallowing hard. On the other roof, Jessie and James began to call for him to come over, even teasing him for being afraid.

"Come on, Charlie!" Jessie yelled, "It was your idea!"

"Jump, chicken, jump!" was James' encouragement.

"They're just like kids," he muttered with a small smile.

He took a deep, final breath. Confident, he leaped forward.

At first, it didn't seem like he wouldn't make it. Then he sailed right over Jessie and James' heads and realized that he was going to a face plant on gravel and pavement. Ouch. Something acted in him, some instinct, and he curled up, arching his spine and throwing himself forward, turning him over in a front flip before landing in a crouching position on the garage roof, facing away from Jessie and James. Smirking, he stood and turned back to his friends, relishing in the wide eyes and dropped jaws directed at him.

"How's _that_ for being chicken?" he asked.


	5. Mental

** Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 5: Mental**

Rick sat in the coffee shop, finishing up his ordered breakfast as he watched the news on the TV behind the counter. In the lull after the morning rush hour, he could hear the reporter talk on TV while numerous images of things on fire and police men flashed in the background. Half he time he fantasized about her and the other half he actually listened to the story.

"_According to eye witnesses,"_ the female reporter was saying, _"The police were in the middle of catching some criminals in a raid when Decepticons known as Lugnut and Blitzwing attacked, stealing bars of unknown metal from the criminals. The Autobots arrived promptly on scene and battle ensued. Thus far, there have been no official casualties, although the crushed remains of a civilian's car were pulled from the rubble. It's believed that the unfortunate victim was just taking a short cut through the refinery. Forensics is attempting to identify the body at this time…"_

Rick snorted a laugh.

"Damn bad short cut," he muttered before scooping some scrambled eggs in his mouth.

He grimaced and spat the eggs out when all he received was a nasty, slushy bitter taste. Man, this coffee shop was disgusting. The food was too heavy and dry, or mushy and moist. The coffee was too thin and weak, and everything _stunk_. He could smell everything from oil of early motor repairs to baby diapers from the woman in the back to body odors of all sorts reeking everywhere. Everyone was always dirty and reeking of some fluid of another, never being able to stay clean enough to call themselves decent.

And the noises they made; from burps and farts to hiccups and sighs, the noises were always mashed together in a huge headache. It was an audio path of how the human body tried to keep itself balanced because it was too gross and disgusting and under-evolved to remove disgusting habits like waste removal and natural gas from itself—

Rick suddenly leaned over and promptly lost his breakfast all over the lap of the business man next to him. Five minutes later, he stumbled out the back door of the coffee shop to escape his embarrassing accident, making sure to slap several bills on the counter before going.

_God, what am I thinking?_ He thought meekly, _why the hell did I have all those gross thoughts suddenly?_

He sat down hard in the alley way and rubbed his scruffy black hair, taking long, deep breaths to calm himself down. A minute later, a pretty trim waitress peeked out of the back door.

"Hey," she called, "You okay, honey?"

"Yeah," he lied, "I'm fine."

The girl disappeared back into the coffee shop. Rick propped his head against the wall, enjoying a few minutes of peace.

"Stomach flu…" he muttered, "That's all, I'm just stressed and got the flu…"

Someone was blasting the sound on their TV from an apartment, letting the news report that was on drift out an open window and down to Rick.

"_The annual Air Force Air Show will begin today, starting at eleven and ending at five in the afternoon for the next five days, as planned, in spite of the recent resurfacing of the Decepticons,"_ the report said. _"Officials promise the public that the Decepticons have no reason to interrupt the festivities and that the spectators will be safe from harm…"_

"These are rough times indeed when the military has to promise safety at their parties instead of just letting people take it for granted," Rick muttered, picking up a scrap piece of paper from the ground and fiddling with it.

Noting that there was print on the paper, he curiously opened it up to see that it was the remaining shreds of a newspaper. Most of the ads on it were incomplete at the edges, but there was one clear ad that Rick could read:

_**Dr. Phial, Psychologist and Psychiatrist**_

_**Hypnosis**_

_**Memory Recall**_

_**Dream Interpretation**_

_**Schizophrenia Treatment**_

_**By-Polar Treatment**_

_**Relationship Counseling**_

_**Phobia Cures**_

_**Grief and Depression Treatment**_

_**If you have any of these illnesses and more, feel free to**_

_**Visit Dr. Phial at **_

_**117, Building C17, North Elm Street,**_

_**Mid-Town Detroit.**_

"Maybe that's what I need," Rick muttered, "A head-shrink to get these weird thoughts out of my head."

His cell phone rang and he quickly dug it out of his pocket to answer.

"Yo, Rick here," he greeted.

"_Rick, my man, it's you're favorite buddy!"_ Phineus sang on the other end of the line._ "Listen, I know that the last gig was botched and we didn't even get paid, but me and some other guys just got together and had this __great__ idea!"_

The image of a tomb stone flashed in Rick's mind as a visual equivalent of Phineus' "great idea".

"This better be good," he snarled.

"_You know there are a lot of Air Force drop outs in the gang, right?"_ The "gang" Phineus referred to was nothing more than a loose circle of acquaintances. _"Well, we're gonna see about stealing some Air Force boy uniforms from the whole festival thing-y going on and do some other funny stuff, you know? Like, like, make them __whacked__ and __annoyed__! Oh man, it'll be __hilarious__! What do you say, Rick, my man, wanna get in on this?"_

"With the Decepticons back and the military paranoid? No way," Rick replied.

"_Aww, come on, Rick! It's been forever since we did anything stupid for fun! Please? Pretty please? I promise that we'll grab some hot she-pilot tail while we're at it!"_

"Hold on."

Rick pulled the phone from his head, looking from it to the ad and back again. After a long moment, he shrugged as he stuffed the ad into his pocket. It was a dumb idea, but, hey, why not have a little fun? Maybe he could get the chance to blow off some steam on someone's face. Besides, it's not like he hadn't done anything stupid before. He put the phone back to his ear.

"Alright, I'm in," he said.

"_Sweet, I knew you'd come through for me! Okay, last day of the festival at noon, meet me at the air base just outside of town where the party is, 'kay?"_

"See you then," Rick confirmed.

- - - -

Toby hadn't been able to go to the debriefing with Detective Owl against the criminals they had caught at the raid; he was just too hyper. It had taken him six times of repeating himself to tell Owl what he wanted in his coffee that morning because he was talking too fast. Now that Toby thought about it, he would have probably given the public officials head aches from talking so fast. Now he sat alone in the kitchen of the apartment he and Owl shared, looking about as his racing mind tried to keep on one mind track.

_I wonder why I'm so hyper now a-days,_ was the first concrete thought he managed. _I quit drinking coffee two weeks ago maybe I'm going into some sort of withdraw no I'd be more achy and cranky but then again, everyone's different and I could be a unique case hey I wonder what kind of coffee Owl's drinking now a days he usually likes that Brazilian stuff but he said his doctor needed him to lower his cholesterol would lowering his cholesterol include changing his coffee preference._

Toby got up and opened the cupboard, briefly glancing inside at the coffee ground cans inside before carelessly tossing the door shut again.

_ No, he's still drinking Brazil. Hey, I got plenty of time to kill on my hands maybe I should I bring out the puzzles and build a puzzle or two I wish Owl would let us get a video game system that way I don't have to constantly put so many pieces back every time his nieces and nephews came over then again I see where he's coming from I mean, kids usually get such a bad influence from video games these days and then again he polishes his guns all the time in front of them so I guess the worst influence they can get is him is it funny that I find that ironic?_

Toby went over to the closet in the hall and opened it up. Inside were the usual spare coats, blankets, and shoes, with boxes of traditional cardboard puzzles on the top shelf and cans of 3-D imagine-and-create puzzles at the bottom. Looking at the cans, he spotted the traditional Lincoln Logs, their cousin set of sticks-and-cogs, and the more "high tech" plastic and magnet sticks and blocks, as well as the ever classic bin of Legos. They were so many little pieces just begging for someone to change them into something more, but were doomed to an eternity of being gnawed on by little kids and creating primitive cubes and frames, never to be finished…

A Brief image flashed into Toby's head: A black background with some sort of structure in the foreground, outlined in a fuzzy blue grid of light. As quick as it was there, it was gone and Toby was left standing in front of the closet with one of his eyes twitching in confusion. Then, what ever energy was sparked in him decided that twenty seconds of no mental and physical movement was enough and he burst into action.

Seizing the cans of 3-D puzzles, he hauled them out of the closet and to the kitchen, pouring them over the counters, floor, and table. He tossed the last can over his shoulder, completely ignoring the loud crash it made when it struck the side table with the phone on it. He rubbed his hands together as an eager grin spread across his face. Then he began to pick up the puzzle pieces and put them together.


	6. Sleepy Time

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 6: Sleepy Time**

Sometime after leaving Shockwave's laboratory, Macbeth watched Blitzwing go about his business through the robot's optics, learning that the Decepticons were gathering in force at a hidden base on the moon of Earth. He saw many strange mechs, from the pompous Thundercracker to the frog-like Leaper. At first, his head reeled at all the different forms and shapes the Decepticons took and their life style. But after a while, he got the idea that yes, there is many different sorts of Decepticons and they were a different species, and came to accept it as it came.

Hot Head took control of the body when he (they?) decided to tend to some weapons practice. Hence, it was while Hot Head was melting every target into goop did Random and Cold speak to the nervous Macbeth once more.

_*Here are the house rules of my body, human*_ Cold explained to Macbeth. _*There will be no taking control of my body; it is my body, not yours. Next: There will be no brainwashing. I have received the speech about the Decepticons being evil more times than I can count in my life and frankly…*_

_It just gets more hilarious every time!_ Random laughed.

_*****__And finally…*_

Cold suddenly spun around and took control of the body in the cock pit area while Hot Head stepped away. Out in the real world, Hot Head's face was switched for Cold's. Cold Blitzwing gritted his teeth in determination as he release jets of ice to freeze a series of laser shots coming at him from the battle practice drone. In Blitzwing's head, Hot Head turned to Macbeth.

_**Stay out of the way!**_ Hot Head snarled, finishing Cold's sentence. _**No one wants to hear a sniveling organic complaining about things that are too big for them to understand! And don't think you can make friends with us, because I'm just going to roast fry you with my shoulder cannons the instant you're out of my head, you puny little weakling freak!**_

_Don't take over the body I have no idea how to use, don't mess with your already messed up head, and don't like you; easy,_ Macbeth stated. _So, how soon until I can leave this crappy psych ward?_

_**Why you little--!!!**_ Hot Head yelled as Random began laughing.

Macbeth smirked, ducking a punch from Hot Head, but his triumph turned to surprise when Random struck him in the back of the head, still laughing, and he fell hard onto his stomach on the black floor. Random crouched on top of Macbeth a moment later, pinning him to the floor with one of his shoulder cannons aimed at Macbeth's head. Macbeth remembered that the three different minds were, in fact, one robot and hence, an attack of any sort was an attack to all of them.

_You're funny, human!_ Random continued laughing, _but don't forget that I and we _are_ crazy, and I and we are ready to snuff out your life in a moment's notice!_

_If you can _really_ do that,_ Macbeth grunted, _then why don't you?_

_**Because we don't know how to, stupid!**_ Hot Head snarled, _**Don't you think we would have done it already if we knew how?**_

_No, I just thought that Random here wanted to see if people can hear a human screaming cuss words from inside your head,_ Macbeth replied, throwing Random off of himself and getting to his feet.

Random actually looked surprised while Hot Head made what sounded like a positive grunt and Cold smirked in amusement.

"Hey, Blitzwing, I heard that you got an _organic_ stuck in your head."

Blitzwing turned around and Macbeth set eyes on a peculiar sort of Transformer.

It was most defiantly female; the –er hem—suggestive armor covering and piquet build revealed that. She was dark purple, gold, and black with a dash of red accenting. She appeared to have a spider's larger back end hanging from her back, as well as a large pair of spider legs attached to her shoulders, ready to dive down and pierce who ever she pleased. Metal armor and tough flesh melded together, showing that she was a one-of-a-kind organic-Transformer hybrid. Her helmet, purple and trimmed with gold, had holes for her narrow red eyes… all eight of them. One could go on and on about all her beauty, but one can just summarize the femme as been a rather attractive organic-mech hybrid. Macbeth was enchanted.

Blitzwing was disgusted.

Hot Head took control and snarled at the femme, **"At least it's reversible, unlike **_**your**_** ugly form!"**

_Now, really, is it truly necessary to insult a woman?_ Macbeth scolded as the femme's face twisted up in anger.

"**Shut up, you stupid idiot!"** Hot Head Blitzwing snarled, making the femme's face turn into that of confusion and lift four of her eye brows in surprise.

_Well, it doesn't matter how much you dislike a woman;_ Macbeth stated. _It's not very gentlemen-like, and very petty to insult a lady._

"**I don't care about being a gentleman!"** Hot Head snarled back, **"And she's not a lady, she's a freak!"**

Having got the idea now that the human in Blitzwing's head was of a nagging sort, the femme snickered, "Have fun with the human, Blitzwing. I'm sure having _one_ more voice in your head shouldn't be _too_ much of a problem."

The femme strutted out the door, laughing as she went.

_Who was that?_ Macbeth ventured.

_*__That__ was Blackarachnia,*_ Cold Blitzwing answered. _*She used to be an Autobot until an accident with organics and her ability-borrowing powers resulted in her widely accepted death and that cursed form she bears now. She works with the Decepticons, looking for a cure to her curse.*_

_Rumor has it that she has a thing for an Autobot, maybe even Optimus Prime!_ Random exclaimed.

"**Great, another heinous thing to add to her description, and as for that cure: She's never going to find it," **Hot Head growled, cleaning up the practice room. **"She'd be better off just off lining herself."**

_Come, now, surely being part organic isn't __that__ bad?_ Macbeth said.

_It is and so much, much, much more!_ Random said. _She is an ugly mixture of flesh and metal. Like mustard and peanut butter; how can they__ possibly __go together???_

_Perhaps there are people who actually __like__ the taste of mustard and peanut butter together?_ Macbeth suggested.

_Then those people are crazier than me,_ Random snickered.

_*Regardless of tastes in food,*_ Cold yawned, _*It is high time that we go to bed*_

Hot Head stepped away from the body's control area and Cold stepped into it, putting his face on the body. Cold Blitzwing strode through the halls of the hidden Decepticon base, carrying them someplace new while Macbeth and the Blitzwing aspects continued talking.

_Robots sleep?_ Macbeth asked.

_**We're a **_**Transformer,**_** stupid human!**_ Hot Head snarled. _**Don't get me mixed up with those stupid automatons that wait on humans hand and foot like some stupid drone!**_

_Of course we sleep,_Random said. _How else do we get to dream about kicking Autobot skid-plate?_

_Where do you sleep?_ Macbeth asked.

Blitzing stopped in the long hall they were walking and entered a small room. The room had only a single large, barren table with a round-cornered rectangle rise on one end that must have been a pillow. The table-bed lied under a large window and its seat that looked out over space. Blitzwing settled himself down on the table and closed his optics, blinding everyone in his head to the outside world. Cold Blitzwing stepped back from the controls and lied down on the floor, even as his body lost its substance, become momentarily see-through, and faded out completely.

_*Sleep, now,*_ he ordered.

_**Don't keep us up, human, **_Hot Head snarled at Macbeth. _**Just shut up and don't do anything.**_

With that, Hot Head also made the motions to lie down, as did Random, but both faded out before they had completely even sat down. Macbeth stood in the darkness for a long moment, listening to the hum of inner gears as Blitzwing drifted into a deep sleep. He continued standing there dumbly, trying to figure out what he could do to keep him self occupied until morning, when Blitzwing and all his personalities were awake again. His limbs began to grow heavy, as did his eye lids, and he, too, settled down on the floor.

_Can I __sleep__ inside of someone else's head?_ Macbeth thought before he drifted away from sentient thought.

- - - -

Charles, meanwhile, had had his social drinks with Jessie and James and had managed to make it home safely to his apartment. It was a decent four-roomed apartment, with a tiny kitchen, bathroom, bed room, and living room, and furnished with basic necessities as well as social decoration, like a print of a minor painter and some pictures of his friends, family, and years in the police force. Waiting for him was his black cat, Coal.

Coal mewed loudly upon Charles' entrance into the apartment and he dropped his keys on a small table by the door as he knelt to pet the cat.

"Hey, buddy," he said, "Did you miss me?"

The cat purred as it leaned into his strokes.

"Of course you did," Charles chuckled, "I'm the one feeding you, aren't I?"

Charles flicked on some lights and put a can of damp cat food in Coal's feeding dish before fixing himself up a can of chicken noodle soup. Charles sat at the living room window's window seat, staring out at the night-time city as he ate his chicken soup.

The stars didn't shine over head, but the moon did. It cast its famous ghostly glow over the darkened buildings of Detroit, acting as a bright night light for the city while an occasional late driver roamed the streets. He had remembered the nights when the Transformers first came to Earth when one could always hear the explosions and shouts of giant mechanical combat somewhere in the city. There had been more than one night or day when an enormous flash would light up the entire city, like the winter when the All Spark was destroyed, or, more famously, the day the Autobots saved Detroit from being totally vaporized by three gigantic robots. Oh boy, it was better not to think about that…

Charles set his empty soup bowl aside and sighed deeply as he leaned back against the window's side as weariness finally took over. He hadn't slept in two days and it would be good to finally get some…

- - - -

_One minute he was in his apartment, drifting off into a peaceful sleep, and the next, he was fighting. Red-eyed monsters were on all sides, snapping out with claws and blades as they attempted to grab him and end his life. Charles shouted, more in fear than surprise, and fought back instinctively. But these moves… he had never learned these moves! An arm went up to block a blow here, a leg kicked a blade away there, and he suddenly ducked and spun around, kicking with his foot to knock the enemies back. He dropped down in a crouching position like a cat, then leaped high over head, doing a front flip to land, once more in a crouching position, behind his enemies. Where the hell had he learned these moves!?_

_An enemy's claw seized him from behind, but rather than squeeze soft flesh, Charles felt hard metal, instead. Charles spun around and smacked at his grabber, hitting them hard enough to send them reeling away. For a brief moment, he saw his hand and looked at it. It was not his own pale, flesh-covered hand, or even a black-leather glove worn in uniform, but a black, yellow, and silver metal gauntlet. What--??_

_A savage snarl sounded out and Charles looked up in time to see one of the monsters pounce on him, knocking him onto the floor with a loud metallic crash while iron claws pierced metal at his shoulders with a screech of metal on metal—_

_- - - -_

Charles cried out, this time in fear, and jerked awake with his heart pounding. Coal was on his chest and the cat woke up with a start, raising its head to look at Charles with wide, confused eyes, but refusing to move. Charles panted as he caught his breath and calmed himself down, rubbing the cold sweat from his brow.

"What- what was that?" he whispered.

Coal mewed, as if asking, "What was _what?"_

Groaning, Charles flopped back against the side of the window and rubbed his face. In spite of the inner turmoil spurned by the recent nightmare, he felt a cooler, calmer presence in him quietly assuring him all was well. Charles gave a start upon realizing that here was a voiceless intelligence with in him. There wasn't too much drama about the realization: It was just there. This new presence was unnatural and Charles knew it. He gathered Coal up in his arms and hugged the feline close.

"I don't know what's happening to me, Coal," he muttered. "I keep having weird ideas, weird urges, and weird thoughts that I don't really think are mine. I think I need to see a psychologist. Maybe I'm suffering from some sort of trauma from the robots and the raid…"

Coal didn't have answers. The cat brushed its head against his chin as it purred lovingly in an attempt to sucker up more love and attention. Charles petted the cat and stared out the window for a while after, trying to figure out what was wrong with him.

- - - -

"Hey, Toby," Detective Owl called as he entered his apartment, "Sorry it took so long, but the guys I had to debrief to were idiots and needed things explained to them a lot of times. After that, I met this _awesome_ broad that I just couldn't say no to and we wound up having a drink. Oh, and I also got that movie you've been wanting to watch and—"

Owl stopped short upon entering the kitchen.

The counters were covered with dozens of carefully constructed mini buildings connected by tunnels, bridges, and staircases, crossing from counter to floor to across open corners. Hundreds of Lincoln Logs, sticks-and-cogs, plastic sticks with magnetic ends, and Legos had been used in the construction of this miniature city of strange buildings, few of which were mere perfect, traditional cubes or rectangular prisms. Attached to the ceiling and fan via string were numerous constructs in the form of avian vehicles, many of which were tin miniatures that one often built as a hobby. But others appeared to be hand-made from popsicles sticks and other puzzle pieces, creating a strange array of alien spacecraft that humans had not even dared dream of.

Empty storage cans and bins tossed in the living room clued into the fact that more supplies had been bought to make the city and air force, but the main source of attraction was the construct on the kitchen table, rearing apart from the city like some ancient volcano.

An enormous twisting spire had been constructed on the kitchen table. Looking like something out of a strange fantasy comic book, the spire leaned and spun with the whirls in its side, almost like a sentient organism that had been frozen and turned into hundreds of wooden stick and connecting puzzle pieces in an instant. Inside the spire, an intricate series of frames and tiny rooms had been crafted, all of which had been out fitted with spare change and numerous nick-knacks that had been found around the house: A class ring, tiny porcelain animal figurines, crystal cubes with 3-D images in side of them, rare coins, smooth stones picked up from numerous forest and beach trips, some shells, glass beads, and many other things. The top of the spire was donned with a sudden thick stick like a lightening rod, pointing straight to the ceiling.

And standing amidst it all, calmly sipping a mug of tea was Toby.

"Oh, hey, Owl," Toby said in a regular pace of speech. "How are you?"

Owl only stood with his mouth dropped open and his eyes bulging at the scene before him. Toby drained the last of the tea from his cup, whipping it out with his shirt before replacing it on one of the buildings, giving it a roof. He carefully walked around the tiny buildings on the floor to reach Owl and took the small shopping bag from his friend's hand and peeked inside it.

"Ah, _3 Minutes_, I've always wanted to see that," he said, taking the bag from Owl and heading to the living room. "Hey, pop some popcorn for us, will ya? I'm dead beat tired."

"We…" Owl said, "Are getting you medication."


	7. Therapy

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 7**: **Therapy**

A sudden swaying feeling in Macbeth's stomach awoke him as Blitzwing got up.

_Wha-what?_ He yawned.

Cold and Random Blitzwing were already wake in their dark void and made shushing noises and motions to Macbeth. This was the first time he had seen either of them remotely nervous.

_Hot Head is not a morning mech,_ Random warned, _He is a major cranky panky._

_How "cranky panky"?_ Macbeth asked as a smallish Decepticon approached Hot Head Blitzwing in the outside world.

"Hey, Blitzwing," the little mech asked, holding a thermos-like bottle up to Blitzwing. "Want some energon?"

Hot Head looked at the little mech, snatched the bottle away, and promptly roared into the victim's face while his shoulder cannons blasted fire down onto the poor little mech. Hot Head Blitzwing then walked away, sipping on the energon as if nothing happened while the little mech stood where he was, covered in soot and smoking.

_Oh, __that__ crank panky,_ Macbeth thought, his eye twitching. _That's not good._

_*Understatement of the century, my unwanted room mate*,_ Cold Blitzwing replied.

_So, what are we doing today?_ Macbeth asked.

"_**We**_** are going to be collecting supplies for our plans to get Megatron out of the Stockades,"** Hot Head Blitzwing growled, _**"You**_** are going to sit back and be **_**quiet**_** until Shockwave finds a way of getting you **_**out**_**."**

_What about that psychic fellah, the one with the guitar, Soundwave?_ Macbeth asked, remembering one of the mechs he had seen the day before. _You said he could manipulate Transformer minds, right? So can't he get me out of here?_

_*Soundwave is not _that_ skilled with the mind,*_ Cold informed. _*Besides, I doubt that he'll be able to bear handling a human mind for very long.*_

_Why, too small?_ Macbeth asked.

"**No, too **_**gross**_**," **Hot Head answered.

"What's too gross?" Blackarachnia asked, coming from another side hall.

"**YOU!!!"** Hot Head snarled into her unflinching face.

_Now, now, Hot Head,_ Macbeth scolded, _Remember what I told you about treating ladies._

"**I don't give a slag!"** Hot Head snarled to the side,

_But remember?_ Macbeth snickered, _Tick a lady off enough and she'll rip out what ever makes you a man and make you eat it. While you're crying._

Hot Head's shoulders and face fell in a look of nervous confusion. Blackarachnia merely looked on with a smirk of amusement on her face.

"**She—she'll do **_**what**_** with my manliness?"** Hot Head whimpered, making the femme's eye brows raise in surprise.

_So remember: If you have nothing nice to say to a lady, don't say anything at all._

Blitzwing looked at Blackarachnia, away, then back again. Finally, he snarled in frustration as he turned to her.

"**I have nothing nice to say to you so I won't say anything at all!"** he snapped at the femme hybrid.

With that said, he stomped away, sucking on the energon bottle with a sulky slouch in his shoulders. Macbeth couldn't help but chuckle in amusement at Hot Head's antics. Blackarachnia, mean while, merely crossed her arms and shook her head in bemusement, a small smile creeping on her face.

- - - -

Charles had gotten up early on his day off, being unable to sleep after his unpleasant nightmare. He slid around the morning crowds on the sidewalk, avoiding servant robots and bustling morning folk alike. Being a bright and sunny summer Saturday morning, people were everywhere, out and enjoying the weather.

Finally, he made his way to the news paper dispensing machine and put in some coins. The machine grunted and shook as something in it misfired. Before Charles knew what he was doing, his fingers came together and he struck at the machine with a well-placed karate chop. He looked at his hand in confusion as the machine spat out a news paper, cheerfully wishing him a good day in an automatic electronic voice that Charles found creepy.

He took a spot by the machine where some other business men were reading the news paper right there and flicked through it. Comics with their same small jokes, articles about the APL, a fire here, a missing person there, and a lot about the recent reappearance of the Decepticons. It had nothing that he didn't know: The Decepticons attacked a gathering of criminal master minds while the police were about to take them out, stole some weird metals, fought the Autobots, and disappeared again. Some poor sap got vaporized in the attack. He was getting into the part where the reporters were poking fun at Captain Fanzone's comical motto, "this is why I hate machines", when an ad caught his eye.

He read the ad quickly ripped it out, clutching the rest of the newspaper in the other hand as he left the vicinity of the news paper machine just as Detective Owl and Toby came over.

"Come on, Owl," Toby was whining, "So I had a burst of creativity, so what? I don't need to be doped up on drugs because of it!"

"That wasn't a burst of creativity," Owl said, dropping change into the newspaper machine. "That was demon possession."

The machine began to gurgle and shake and Owl whacked it once, then twice, trying to make it work.

"Oh, come on, Owl, just because a guy get's a little fast and creative sometimes doesn't mean that he's completely lost it!" Toby said.

As he spoke, he rabbit punched the machine a couple hundred times, making passer by stop and stare. Suddenly, the machine emitted a sound like a bell and spat a news paper out, striking Owl right between the eyes. Owl caught the news paper as it came back down and rubbed his face, shooting a look at Toby. Toby stared back at him then grinned nervously as he shrugged helplessly.

"Okay," he said, "I _might_ be experiencing a suppressed midlife crises."

"Hmm…" Owl said, spotting an ad in the paper, "How about we check out this Dr. Phial guy?"

"Dr. Phil?"

"Dr. _Phial_. Dr. Phil's a fake."

"Eh, sure, why not?"

- - - -

Dr. Phial's skin was the color of pale caramel, and his body was long and lanky, like a towel that had had the water rung out of it. His clothes were of an old fashion, like 1920's old, matching the office that had furniture that seemed to have been dragged through time from the 1920's and 30's. The reflection of light on his bald head was almost enough to make an SOS flashing signal. It was on that bright, reflective bald head, almost like polished metal, that Rick paid attention to while he let his mouth run.

"I'm a bad guy, there's no arguing that," he had started after being assured of the price of the session per hour and that Phial wouldn't say anything to the cops. "I don't even know if I ran away from home or got kicked out of a foster home or what because I've always been too busy fighting and drinking to look at the past. Slag, I don't even know if I graduated _high school_ or not! Things just blend together when you lie long enough."

- - - -

"I have a nice life," Charlie told the doctor. "I was raised on a farm surrounded by a good family and the beauties of nature. I was taught things like honor, decency, and justice, and generally had a good childhood. No one abused me and no one meaningfully harmed me. I've had fights, I've had loves and heart breaks just like the next guy. I just try to be an average Joe."

- - - -

"I was the mischief child growing up," Toby chuckled nervously, fidgeting on the couch. "Always playing pranks, blowing off school, but I always came through for tests and my friends. I'm just not a serious guy when it comes to stuff that I don't really care about. When I got the urge to be a private eye, thankfully, I kept with it."

- - - -

"I get my income by hiring myself out as muscle," Rick explained. "What kind of muscle doesn't matter; furniture hauler, leg breaker, club bouncer, hit man, body guard, bachelorette party stripper, what ever, I push things around and you pay me, that's always the deal. My buddy, Phineus, scores the jobs and we do them, no joke. He has more connections, and tends to tick them off a whole lot less than I do. But just because I'm the brawn doesn't mean I don't have brains, just to let you know, but recently I'm starting to loose those."

"How so?" Dr. Phial asked.

- - - -

"I'm a police officer in the Detroit Police Force," Charles said. "I'm apart of the Motorcycle Division, so I help clear traffic ahead of the other cops and I can go where the cop cars and police drones can't, like in narrow back allies. It's a good life; I haven't had to put up with most slag like nagging bosses or financial problems. But recently, I've been… changing. "

"How so?"

- - - -

"I'm the stool pigeon for Detective Owl," Toby said, doing a head stand on the couch. "I'm small and sneaky enough. All I have to do is just sneak into shady places, find out what slaggers are saying, and report it back to him. We room mate together and help pay the bills and stuff. He's a cool guy, but he wanted me to come here because I've been acting really, _really_ weird lately."

"How so?"

- - - -

"It all started a couple weeks ago, just as little things." Rick said, rubbing his hands together nervously. "I woke up and just… didn't feel right. I keep having these random thoughts that don't fit me, like thinking I can _fly_ over fences, and sometimes I don't even think in English, it's just, like, electronic _garble_. A couple days ago, I actually beat the slag out of some guys out side of a bar and didn't remember it until the next day, but even then, it wasn't really _me_ doing it, like, it was my body, but not _me_. 'I' talked differently, acted differently, it was my body, but someone else used it. And above all, I just keep grossing myself out when ever I dwell too long on the idea of being human."

"How do you gross yourself out?"

"Well, just the _human_ in general. Like, the way they ooze and are so squishy and wriggle all over the place and—oh god, not again…"

Dr. Phial quickly handed Rick a waste basket to help Rick when he covered his mouth.

- - - -

"I keep having these strange feelings and urges," Charles said, moving his hands to motion the urges. "I want to go to the park, or the mountains and just _sit_ there, enjoying nature like I had had when I was a small boy. I don't feel like doing anything but meditate, and recently, I've been doing martial arts. Other than some standard punches they taught in the police academy, I don't _know_ these martial arts, things like karate chops, or using throwing stars. Yesterday, I actually jumped from a high floor to a roof next door to escape the paparazzi at the police station!"

- - - -

"Well, I'm the same Toby, mostly," said the smallish man, "I'm just a little more hyper. I like to run, like to build things, like to read three hundred page books in an hour and a half, run sixteen city blocks in five minutes, just regular things you do when you're hyper. Those are regular things, right?"

"…Get down from the chandelier."

- - - -

"Thanks," Rick said, setting the waste basket aside as he whipped his mouth with a tissue. "So, what's the matter with me?" Rick asked, tossing the tissue into the trash. "I'm loosing my mind, aren't I? I'm turning schizophrenic, aren't I?"

"The disgust in the human body may be your own hatred for human weakness, which you possess," Dr. Phial suggested, "The feeling that you can fly, the unknown childhood, and the human disgust can all be signs that you are subconsciously growing an enormous ego. Divine forces are often seen as creatures of immense power, far above petty humans and having abandoned things like childhood. In short, you may be starting to see yourself as a figure of divine status above your fellow humans. But we are running short on time and this will require some more investigating. Come back here at noon tomorrow and we can investigate more."

- - - -

"You jumped from roof to roof?" Dr. Phial asked.

"The press was mobbing the police headquarters yesterday due to the reappearance of the Decepticons, and some comrades and I had to escape them without being mobbed, so I got a rather uncharacteristic idea to jump from a third story window the garage roof next door. I made it, as you can see, but darn it!" Charles snapped, punching his leg, "What the slag is giving me these ideas?"

The word 'slag' made Dr. Phial flick through his note back to his notes on a previous patient. Sure enough, there was the word, written between notes of "unknown childhood" and "feels like flying", was the circled question "slag?". Was this a connection?

"This will require more investigating," Dr. Phial said, "You seem to have had a good life, but these urges are arising none the less. It might be the result of suppressed memories of a strict childhood, but we will need to see more. Come back here at noon tomorrow and we will continue."

- - - -

"So, what's the matter with me, doc?" Toby asked, dropping down from the chandelier and landing on his feet easily. "Oh, wow, hey, cool, I couldn't do that before!" he said, indicating the landing.

"You _could_ just be suffering some sort of excess energizing chemical in your blood," Phial said, eyeing the words "slag" and "slagger" in his previous notes and Toby's own notes. "Mmm, come back tomorrow at noon for another session. But please, don't dangle by your legs from the chandelier again, will you?"

"How about my arms?" Toby joked.

"…….No."


	8. I Have a What In My Head?

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 8: I Have a **_**What**_** in My Head!?**

_Where are we going?_ Macbeth asked.

"Shockwave has called a meeting among the Decepticons," Cold Blitzwing said aloud as he walked through the halls. "Please hold your tongue that way we may participate fully in the meeting without embarrassing ourselves."

_**Yeah, so no talking!**_ Hot Head snapped at Macbeth.

_What ever you say, ugly,_ Macbeth muttered.

Random laughed even as he took a swipe at Macbeth. Macbeth easily ducked and Random slapped Hot Head, making the jack-o-lantern-faced personality laugh all the more harder in their mental space. Hot Head rubbed his face and glared at Random, apparently not enjoying the same joke.

"Shh, we are here," Cold Blitzwing whispered.

Sure enough, Blitzwing had entered the main bay of the crashed Decepticon ship acting as Decepticon headquarters. Here, all the Decepticons had gathered and Shockwave was currently standing on a stack of large blue metal crates. Most of the assembled Decepticons looked only mildly interested; finding that there was free energon in the base the place had become more of a hangout than a military base, in spite of Shockwave's efforts.

"Quiet down, now," Shockwave called, "We have matters to attend to.

"Now, as you all know, I have the blue prints to a machine that will aide us in our releasing of our glorious Lord Megatron from his prison in the Stockades and, thanks to everyone's combined donations from their personal inventory brigs, the machine is complete."

The crowd began to cheer, but Shockwave quickly shushed them. As he did, Macbeth spoke curiously.

_What kind of a machine is he talking about?_ Macbeth asked.

"A machine that can make Decepticons stronger in its presence and slow Autobots down," Cold Blitzwing muttered, "With it, we would be able to blow right by even the toughest Autobot guards."

_**Don't tell him that!**_ Hot Head exclaimed, _**He'll only tell the Autobots when he gets out!**_

"Pfft, it is a stupid idea and you know it, Hot Head," Cold whispered, rolling his optics, "I've been in the Decepticons a long time and trust me, the simpler a plan is, the worse it can go wrong."

Shockwave now went on, "The bad news is that we will be unable to use it unless we can teleport it directly on top of the Stockades, where the majority of the fighting will be."

The Decepticons began to complain loudly and again Shockwave had to shush them before going on, "But fear not; I have a plan to get over this little… _bug_ in the plan."

"Bug?" a green bug Decepticon snarled, "Waspinator no like the use of bug!"

"You know what I mean," Shockwave growled. "What I propose shouldn't be _too _complicated: The Autobots of Detroit, an old foe for _many_ of us, still have their craft, the Omega Supreme. If we can slay the Autobots and I can hack into Omega Supreme's large, but very simple processor, then we can use that to take us to Cybertron and place the machine directly in its perfect spot. Not only will we have the machine backing us up, but with Omega Supreme under our control, we will be able to free the Master and return to greatness once more!"

The Decepticons cheered to show their approval. How ever, a female voice spoke up.

"It's a dumb plan and it'll never work."

Everyone fell silent and turned to the femme who had spoken.

"Why ever not, Blackarachnia?" Shockwave asked coolly.

"First, its' the machine itself," the spider-Transformer hybrid said, lifting up a claw-like finger. "How do we even know it _works_? I mean, you won't let us _test_ it because it's supposed to be a one-time only deal or whatever. Second," A second finger went up. "Most mechs here have gone up to the Autobots with everything they've got and that little pack of fleshie-loving whack jobs have handed our skid plates to us on almost every occasion! They even defeated _Megatron_ for Spark's sake!"

Uneasy mutters began in agreement.

"And finally, how do you propose we even _get_ to Omega Supreme without him blowing us out of the atmosphere? That guy goes _postal_ every time his thick programming senses the Autobots getting in a fight, and he's certainly not going to just let us walk on in and reprogram him to help _us_. So tell me, _leader_, how do you propose we get past all _that_?"

"I… am still working on it," Shockwave said forcibly. The way his single optic was trembling, he was holding back anger at being thus out-smarted. "But rest assured, such milestones _will_ be dealt with."

The meeting over, the Decepticon troops drifted off to their usual activities, talking quietly amongst each other.

_Smart femme,_ Macbeth commented. _She has a straight head on her shoulders._

Hot Head took over the body and clutched his head in despair.

**"Augh!!! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"** he exclaimed. **"She's not smart, she's a stupid, stupid, ugly organic!"**

Blackarachnia giggled upon hearing this and strode close by Blitzwing, running an index finger across his chest.

"Is that human _really_ causing you that much distress, Blitzwing, or is there a small, faceless part of you acting a bit _naughty_?" she giggled.

**"Get your hands off of me, freak!"** Hot Head snarled, lifting a hand to hit the femme.

Seeing this action, Macbeth felt himself go cold in quiet distaste and anger. He had never appreciated woman hitters, and had always believed fully in treating a lady with respect. But when Blitzwing's hand froze in the air and refused to come down, even Macbeth was surprised.

**"Huh?"** Hot Head asked, looking up at the trembling hand.

"Well, what do you know?" Blackarachnia commented, raising four eye brows in surprise, "Looks like you have a gentleman somewhere in that giant hunk of metal _after _all."

After Blackarachnia had strode off, humming confidentially, out of the room, Blitzwing's arm finally dropped.

He massaged the arm as he asked, **"Jeesh, what was **_**that **_**about?"**

_Maybe it was our house guest?_ Random asked, jerking a thumb at Macbeth.

_*What did we say about not controlling the body?*_ Cold asked sternly.

_Hey, I didn't do anything!_ Macbeth protested. _But you __must__ admit that it is __very__ wrong to hit a lady, organic-metallic hybrid or no._

**"I promise you this, human,"** Hot Head growled, **"I will **_**crush**_** you when you get out of my head…"**

- - - -

Charles showed up on time for his second session with Dr. Phial at noon, as he had been told. The secretary waved him on in without incident and he strode on confidently down the hall to Dr. Phial's office at the end. When he opened the door, was surprised to see Dr. Phial attempting to talk a slim, muscular man with black hair and a red jacket from strangling a smallish man with light brown spiked hair and a casual blue denim jacket.

"You're the one who broke up the poker ring, you little sneak!" the red-jacket wearer roared. "I want my money back!"

"Ack!" the 'little sneak' could only respond.

"Oh, Mr. Charles, how nice of you to join us," Phial said, drawing attention to the police officer.

Upon spotting the black and yellow outfit, the red-jacket wearer instantly dropped his victim and took a step back.

"Cops!" he hissed. "I thought you said that there wouldn't be any cops!"

"Dr. Phial, who are these men?" Charles asked.

"If you will all just have a seat, I will explain," Dr. Phial coolly.

Reluctantly, Charles and Rick took seats on the couch with Toby between them and Dr. Phial introduced them to each other before getting to the point.

"The reason why I've brought you all together is because I happen to notice that your cases are amazingly similar," Dr. Phial began. "All of you are suffering some strange form of personality adjustment brought on by undetermined sources, all starting from about a month ago. But what _really_ caught my eye was the term 'slag', or a variation of that word. Each of you used it at least once while speaking with me, seemingly in replacement for a cuss word of some sort. I told all of you to come together on a haunch, and indeed, after some investigation, my haunch proves to be useful. Now, what I am about to tell you is a bit far-fetched, but bear with me.

"I researched the word 'slag', and discovered that it is a derogatory word used by the Transformer race, as a noun, an adjective, _and_ a verb. For example, you could use it like so: You're such a slagging slagger that I don't even slagging know why I bother putting up with your slag. Now, for Transformers, that would be considered a sentence worthy of covering little ones' ears. My point is that you are using an alien robot race's cuss word. Have any of you ever interacted with any of the Autobots or Decepticons in Detroit before?"

"Of course," Toby said quickly. Catching himself, he went on, "I mean, wait, no, I mean, I've heard of them but I never talked to them before, but does seeing them count? I mean, no, of course not—"

"I… don't think so," Rick said slowly.

"I _know_ I never have," Charles said confidently. "But for some reason, I feel as if I've had."

Dr. Phial nodded and scribbled something down on his notebook. He set the notebook aside and picked up two large white cards lying face-down on the table beside him.

"I am going to show you two images," he told them. "You will tell me what you think about each one."

The patients nodded to show that they understood. Dr. Phial flipped the cards over. The first card bore the image of a red, tribal-looking face. Toby tilted his head to the side curiously, but a small smile twitched at the corner of his lips. A smile leapt to Charles' mustached face without a true reason behind it. Rick's face darkened in a glower of annoyed disgust and clutched his fists.

"Well, what do you think, Charles?" Dr. Phial asked.

"I do not know why, but it feels like home, like when I look at my childhood pictures," Charles admitted.

"Okay, Toby, what do you think?"

"Well, like the FBI, CIA, NSA, police, and all the other agencies, it reminds me of an official symbol or coat of arms."

"So, it reminds you of government leagues, interesting. Rick, your turn, what do you think?"

"It's so, I dunno, _wimpy_. I mean, slag, look at that thing! It looks like something a _kid_ would think up!"

"You said slag again," Charles pointed out.

"Yeah? And I'm about to say it again: Slag you."

"Touché."

Dr. Phial paused to jot down some notes before moving the red tribal face to the back and showing the other card. This one was of a strange, crowned triangle face. It was rather hard to determine exactly what it was of: A bird? A dog? Or some other strange demon? Whatever it was, it made Charles and Toby come to a quick attention and Rick settle back.

"Rick, you will start us off this time," Dr. Phial said. "Tell us what you feel when you see this image."

"Feels like a good night at the bar to me," Rick said, leaning back on the couch and linking his fingers behind his head. "That makes a pretty cool gang logo, actually, what is it?"

"I'll tell you that in a minute. Toby, what do _you_ feel when you see this?"

"For some reason, I feel like running when I see that."

"Running away?"

"No… running to report it to someone."

"Report? Not 'tell someone'?"

"No, 'report' is the word ringing in my head."

"Ah. Finally, Charles, you tell us what you feel."

Charles stared at the weird purple image, staring at the two diagonal slits making up the image's eyes. He didn't _know_ what he was feeling. Part of him was cool apathy, like he was seeing the face of a complete stranger. But a different, strange part of him was cold with an icy distaste. It was the ice-cold part of him that exited his mouth, speaking in a British accent.

"I feel like I should sharpen my throwing stars and prepare for battle."

Charles' eyes widened as he slapped a hand over his mouth, shocked at the new voice. Toby and Rick stared at him and even Dr. Phial lowered his cards, blinking slowly before looking down at his notebook in his lap and scribbling something down with hasty speed.

"What," Rick said. "Was _that_?"

"I—I don't know," Charles said in his regular voice, getting off the couch and pacing a circle nervously. "I keep feeling strange and different, as if something else is sharing my body."

"It's because you _are_."

Everyone looked at Dr. Phial. Dr. Phial held up the red-face card.

"_This_ is a detailed reproduction of what we only see from a distance: The Autobot insignia. And _this_…"

He held up the purple demon faced card.

"Is a copy of the _Decepticon_ insignia. No one has ever gotten close enough to see it clearly, and it is only from sheer luck that someone managed to catch a relatively sharp image of this with a far-zoom camera."

Dr. Phial put the cards down before drawing a stack of white papers from under his notebook.

"Approximately seven months ago the Autobots finally defeated the Decepticons in a cataclysmic battle with in Detroit. With in this battle, there were two definite losses; one for each side.

"The first was the loss of Autobot Prowl, a nature-loving ninja who gave up his own Spark, the source of a Transformer's life, and their soul, to protect the city. The other was of Decepticon Starscream, a Transformer with a jet alt-form who repeatedly attempted to take control of the Decepticons from their leader, Megatron.

"Since then, it has been officially recognized that the Autobot Elite Guard Agent, a sprinter with running speeds faster than light, aptly called Blurr, is missing and presumed dead.

"Charles; Prowl loved nature, knew how to and _did_ wield throwing stars and other martial art weapons.

"Toby; Blurr was hyper and a fast talker, and was one of the best intelligence officers and undercover agents in the field of his government.

"Rick; Starscream was a pompous flyer who despised organics with a passion. Gentlemen, it is in my honest opinion…"

"Oh slag, no," Rick muttered.

"That you are being possessed by the spirits of these Transformers."

"Oh, _slag_," Rick groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

_"WHAT!?"_ Charles and Toby exclaimed.

"That'simpossible!" Toby exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "Transformersarerobots andI'm onlyahuman! HowcouldTransformers evenpossessus, anyway, andhow? Areyouplaying someelaborate jokeonus , becauseifyouare, I'msuingyou!"

"I am _not_ joking with you, Mr. Freeman," Dr. Phial said, standing up as well. "But it is incredibly hard to deny it, think about it! Charles protects people, has had experience with nature, and rides the exact same model of motorcycle that Prowl turned into when he was alive. Toby, your job is to collect information while watching over people and deliver it, just like Blurr. Rick: You are strong, violent, and insist that you are alpha when you are clearly omega, similar to Starscream. It all fits!

"According to the lore that the Autobots have released to the public, Transformer Sparks go to an artifact called the All Spark when a Transformer dies. But because the All Spark has been destroyed and dispersed, and only a large, but incomplete, amount has been recovered, there are some Sparks that have become lost and sought new homes similar to their old ones or their personalities. Hence, the Sparks of the fallen Transformers found their ways to _you_ and settled inside your own minds. Now, after all these months, the Sparks are finally adapting to an organic body and are starting to behave intelligently again. If my theory is correct, the Sparks will only become more and more intelligent until the full personality of the Transformer is with in you as a second personality, capable of carrying on intelligent conversations with you."

"Greeeeaaaat," Toby groaned.

"What can we do to stop this?" Charles asked fearfully. "I mean—this can't be possible, but, I mean, oh—"

Rick stood up and stepped forward, cutting off Charles' stuttering. Charles and Toby looked up at Rick as Rick glared down at Dr. Phial.

"Just tell me this, Phial," Rick said in a low, dangerous tone. "How do I get this robot, this _Starscream_, out of my head?"

"I do not know," Phial admitted. "But I have reason to believe that there are Transformers on the island in the lake just north of Detroit that can help. They are what some of the young kids are calling Spark Born: Transformers created when the All Spark exploded, embedding its shards into numerous machines and giving them life.

"It has been rumored that some mechanical geniuses of Spark Born known as the Constructicons are living on that island, Dinobot Island, hiding from the Decepticons and Autobots. They might be able to build a machine to extract the personalities, providing that you bring enough oil in payment. But be wary: The Constructicons are reluctant Decepticon followers, but Decepticons none the less. There are also the Dinobots; primitive-minded, fire-breathing dinosaur robots. They are _extremely _territorial and hostile. It is not much to hope on, but there is nothing else we can try, save go directly up to the Autobot team and try telling them that you three are possessed by members of their dead."

"So we go to the Dinobot Island, find the Spark Born Constructicons, and see if we can talk them into helping us?" Rick summarized.

"Yes," Dr. Phial confirmed with a nod. "The chances of success would be higher if we talked directly with the Autobot team, but no one knows where their base is, and I do not think that they would believe you if you explained the situation to them."

"_I_ wouldn't believe the situation if I weren't a victim of it," Charles admitted.

"So, what are we waiting for, for tea and lemonade? Let's go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, GO!!!" Toby said quickly.

"Hold on," Charles cautioned. "It might take a while for us to find the Constructicons and we might even have to stay over night on the island. We must prepare and collect adequate supplies before we venture to the island."

"You're using a British accent again," Rick pointed out.

"And you're using an annoying, high voice!" Charles snapped back.

Toby snickered.

"Don't start with me," Charles and Rick told him, returning to their normal voices.

"Well, I suppose you're right," Rick admitted. "But we can't spend _too_ long for preparation: The sooner we get these guys out of our heads, the better. I can be ready with in twelve hours, you?"

"I can be ready by early tomorrow," Charles answered. "I've had experience with wilderness exploration as a boy scout and happen to have plenty of supplies lying around my apartment."

"My cousin runs a boat shop; we can borrow a boat from him for free," Toby said.

"So, it's agreed that you will all meet at the docks tomorrow morning, adequately supplied and ready for what is to come?" Dr. Phial asked.

"I _really_ hate to say this," Rick growled in his usual gruff voice, "But fine, I'll work with the cop."

"Then we will be seeing each other tomorrow?" Charles asked in his own regular country drawl voice.

"Yes," Toby and Rick agreed.

"Well then, until then: Good luck, and let's pray that we can help each other."


	9. Dinobot Island

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 9: Dinobot Island**

_It was really rather funny, actually, once he thought about it. Most people would be absolutely terrified of dying, but he had come to just count it as a fact of life, not because he had accepted it, but because he had suffered it time after time after time. Every time he tried a new scheme that failed, he would once more see and feel the blackness wrap around him, only to lift up, leaving him at the bottom of a gorge, but alive and unharmed. It was comical that not even Death wanted to keep him. The funny part was that when he finally __actually died__, he had been more annoyed than anything else at not waking up. _

_One minute he had been flying over the city, fully intent on giving some slaggers a piece of his mind. The next, he felt the Shard in his forehead pulling, yanking at the metal crack there. Then he had felt it loosening, breaking off of him and taking his life force with it. Then, before he could grab it, stop it, or fly away, the Shard had ripped itself from his forehead and the world had gone black._

_But it was not the final time._

_After many weeks of jumbled thinking and confused, incomplete, primitive thoughts, he was awakening once more and gaining control. Now he watched through warm, squishy orbs at a mash of jittering colors and objects that frequently blurred or were ignored all together as the husk he was trapped in lived. But the longer he watched and saw, the more he became experienced with the body and the closer the day of his releasement drew near…_

- - - -

Rick jerked awake with a hard heart thump. A cold sweat made him shiver in his unheated apartment while the recent sleep made his body stiff and limp. He could feel the dull throbbing in his forehead again. The small apartment around him was scattered with dirty clothes, old food wrappers, and broken furniture from past fights. All was black around him, but a slab of the quarter-moon light outside glowed like a full one, falling on his left arm. Rick spotted his arm instantly and stared, his eyes widening in shock.

His arm was muscular and well-toned, but right now it appeared to be made of silver metal with red, backless, fingerless biker gloves with a narrow, cone-nozzle gun strapped to the shoulder. He sat up, rearing his arm up to check it, but he blinked and suddenly, the illusion was broken. He rubbed his arm, making sure that it was truly his own. When his finger tips brushed against a warm, sweat-soaked arm, he laid back, still staring at his arm as he turned it about and flexed it over his head in the moon light.

_That was weird,_ he thought dumbly. Then, curiously, he asked himself, _I wonder what Starscream thinks about this?_

As if the mentioned person had over heard such unspoken words, a strange new personality state of mind brushed up in Rick's head; hot and thick with anger, violence, and pompous confidence. Rick's arm moved almost on its own, flexing rippling muscles underneath smooth, tanned skin. It was still somewhat repulsive, but it didn't take too much mind power to imagine that metal cables were under the skin instead ropes of meat, and to imagine the skin as properly oiled and polished metal covering instead of some rubbery skin.

Rick dropped his arm, curling it against his bare chest and swallowed nervously, looking away into the darkness of his apartment. But it was late and he was already drifting off back into slumber land.

"Man, I can't wait until this is over…" he muttered.

_You and me both, human,_ a high-pitched, nasally voice agreed in Rick's head before he drifted away into sleep.

- - - -

The docks were a mixture of ancient traditionalism, modern commonness, and the futuristic ways. In the way of traditionalism, there were the long, wide, chipped-paint docks reaching into the sea. The boards looked too rotten for use, but still stood strong, letting barnacles and other lake sludge build up on their support legs. Fishermen with boats from as far back as the 1970's drifted in and out of the harbor, hauling in fish with hand-used nets and poles.

In the modern commonness, there were young, rich bachelors and college kids taking their girlfriends and comrades out onto the lake in their yachts, sail boats, and "borrowed" parents' boats on their way to have a party at some hidden cove elsewhere on the shore. Commercial ships waited at their docks as they allowed their tourists, aging couples, and newly weds on and off on their quest to spend more money as if that would make their trips better. More modern fishermen used electronic pullies to pull their nets from the water after finding their schools of fish with sonar technology.

For futuristic visions, automatons floated on the water, taking the form of funny, bobble-shaped robots that would dart to the rescue if anyone fell in the water. Small avian robots flew by overhead, keeping an eye out for illegal fish poaching, while still others crawled along boats and buildings, scraping away sea gull dung and barnacles alike.

Charles sat amongst it all, perched like a cat on a pier that a boat would usually be tied to, dressed in black jeans, mountain boots, and a yellow shirt with a black and yellow sports baseball cap on his brown hair. On his back was a backpack of his needed supplies, including food, water, a small First Aid kit, and a sleeping bag. He had tried to keep himself from perching on _anything_, but had given up when he had found himself always fidgeting. Now he waited at the rendezvous, praying that the other two men wouldn't skip out purely because he was a cop.

A sea gull landed on the pier opposite of Charles and began to preen itself. Charles watched the white feathers ruffle up and settle down again, ruffle up, and settle down again. He noted how the wing was shaped when it spread to allow the bird access to its side. So intent was he on studying the bird that he didn't notice when Rick appeared in grey jeans and a black muscle shirt with a small duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

Rick looked from Charles, to the sea gull, and back. Finally, he sighed and rolled his eyes before shoving Charles off his perch with a single, black biker-gloved hand shove. The sea gull squawked in surprise and took wing away from the humans.

"Get your head back in the real world," Rick snapped. "Where's Toby?"

"Not here yet," Charles grunted, standing up and brushing himself off. "How did you sleep last night?"

"Fine," Rick lied, "How about you?"

"I had a nightmare that I went down to the doughnut store and I was a robot."

"Which part was the nightmare: The robot part or the part where there were no doughnuts?"

"Ha ha, Rick, haha," Charles said sarcastically. "But is this whole possession issue getting to you or are you starting to dress to resemble Starscream for fun?"

Rick clenched his teeth to bite back a guilty come back. He had honestly found the biker gloves while finding a clean outfit for the trip and had decided that his hands would need protection if they wound up mountain climbing. He should have known that the odd feeling of familiarity was attached to more than just a fashion accessory.

Fortunatly, Rick was saved from an embarrassing defeat when Toby sped up to them in the water inside a speed boat. Toby maneuvered the boat as close as he could to the dock and grinned up at the other two men. He was dressed, fittingly enough, all in white, complete with a collared shirt and a costume captain's hat.

"Hop in!" he called. "Come on, hurry, the sun's not gonna wait for us! Captain Toby, alias Captain Blurr, will get you anywhere you need to go in a jiffy like a bullet train on water! Ooh, a bullet train on water sounds cool! Imagine how much water it would spray up when it went by…"

"That guy is going to get really annoying," Rick muttered, tossing his duffle bag into the boat first.

"Just deal with it," Charles ordered, "Ladies first."

"Oh shut up," Rick hissed before hopping down from the dock and onto the boat.

Rick landed none-too-gently in the boat's center floor, slipping and dropping to his knees with a hard knock. As Rick cussed out his pain, Charles calmly dropped his backpack into the passenger's seat beside Toby before dropping down, as graceful and sure-footed as a cat, into the narrow space between Toby and the passenger seat.

"Let's go," he said coolly, moving the backpack to sit in the seat.

"Show off," Rick muttered as Toby maneuvered the boat out of the harbor.

Once they were in the open water, Toby sped the boat up, quickly leaving behind the yachts, fishing boats, and rafts. It wasn't long before even the harbor disappeared from view and the city slowly shrank behind them. It did not shrink too much, how ever, before a lush mountain appeared in front of them, rising from the lake like a sudden doorway into an older, less tamed time.

"Alright, so remember," Rick said from his spot on a side bench, waving a finger in warning. "We're going to find the Constructicons, get them to fix us, and then _never talk about this again_, do you understand?"

"Yes, Rick," Toby and Charles replied dully.

Rick caught a glimpse of his arm and his eyes bulged when he saw his arm in the robot's image there again. He blinked several times and rubbed the arm, trying to remove the arm. But his fist rubbed against skin, in spite of the vision. Charles glanced over his shoulder and saw this display of frantic energy.

"Rick," Charles sighed with annoyance, "What are you doing?"

"My arm!" Rick exclaimed. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's yours," Toby replied.

"NO! It's _a robot_ arm!!"

"No it's not," Charles argued. "I'm looking at it now and it looks perfectly human."

Rick stared at Charles then pulled out his cell phone.

"I'm calling Dr. Phial," he said. "Maybe he can explain this."

"Hold on, Rick," Charles cautioned. "We've just started out. Let's wait and see if your illusion won't fade away on its own."

"Oh, great," Rick muttered, putting away his cell phone. "I'm starting to hallucinate."

"Okay, we just need a place to land," Toby announced. "Some place out of the way that way no one can spot and steal our boat but someplace where animals can't get into it and wreck it this is only on loan you know and I'll loose an arm and a leg if it gets damaged—"

"How about that cove over there? It looks safe," Charles suggested, pointing to an out cropping of rocks.

"Yeah, good idea, Charles, let's go there," Toby said, steering their boat that way.

By the time they had pulled the boat up under some bushes on the beach, Rick was convinced that his arm was a robot and was trying to crush a rock in his hand.

"Alright, since we don't have any idea where to find these Constructicons, we'll just have to wander about and look for traces of giant robots tramping about," Charles said, grabbing his backpack and walking over to Rick.

He took the rock from Rick's hand and tossed it away before whacking Rick upside the head. As Rick rubbed his head and glared at Charles, Charles pulled three walkie talkies from his backpack and tossed them to each party member.

"Here; these are spare communicators from the police headquarters, we can split up and keep contact through them," Charles said. "Press the large black button on the side to talk and let up to listen. You don't have to change any of the settings because I set them myself, other than the volume. I'll head north, into the jungle. Rick, you can go west along the beach and Toby, east. Call out on the communicator as soon as you find anything."

"Don't you mean walkie talkie?" Toby asked, shouldering his backpack. "You keep calling it a communicator, which is technically correct but—"

"Same thing," Charles said with a dismissive gesture.

"Hey, wait, a minute," Rick snarled, "Who died and made _you _boss bot?"

Charles thrust his face into Rick's and snapped, "The alien robot ghost in my head did, now shut up and get walking!"

Before Rick could squeeze in a come back, Charles spun around on one heel and stalked off into the forest.

"Humph," Rick grumbled as he began walking west, "What a prick."

Toby saw Rick rubbing his arm and hesitated.

_He really does think that his arm's a robot arm, _he thought. _Hallucenating isn't a good sign. Maybe I should stay with him and keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't hallucinate the ability to fly because then he would jump off a cliff and get himself killed and I would feel guilty because I could have been there keeping an eye on his crazy self but didn't because, yes, while he tried to kill me before, no one deserves to go absolutely nutty and kill himself but then again how do I know that I'm not nutty and am just imagining all this up because for all I know I could be in a padded cell right now, bouncing off the walls and singing "They're Coming to Take Me Away" because no one really knows what it's like to be crazy, not even the crazy people, so Rick probably doesn't realize that he's crazy and—_

Rick, now several yards up the beach, turned and shouted back to Toby, "Will you stop staring at me!?"

"See you later, Rick!" Toby called and sprinted down the beach, heading east.

- - - -

Charles was truly amazed at how much life was on Dinobot Island. For a bit of wilderness so close to the city, it was surprising that there was so much healthy life flourishing, pure of pollution and human corruption. There were no dirt-beaten trails from constant tourists and hikers, nor hidden coves full of trash from partying teenagers, or the tell-tale signs of lumberjacking or tree huggers and hippies who unintentionally destroyed the very things they tried getting close to. Woodland creatures of all types bounded around in the near by brush, strangely at home even with a stranger in their midst. He soon forgot his original goal to find the Constructicons and found himself climbing to the top of a large fallen tree and sitting there, cross-legged and still to watch the birds flutter in the trees.

"It's… so beautiful…"Charles whispered.

_It is, isn't it?_

Charles jumped and looked around for the strange British voice.

_Please, don't be afraid, it is me: Prowl._

"In… in my head?" Charles wondered, looking around still.

_Yes. My apologies if my presence is intrusive, but I'm afraid that I had no choice in the matter,_ Prowl went on. _But it's taken me quite a while just to learn how contact you with in your own body. I have been watching for quite a while now and I apologize for manipulating your own moods and life._

"Uh, umm… "

Crud, what was Charles supposed to say?

"Let's get back to finding the Constructicons," Charles muttered, sliding off the log and patting the moss and dirt off his back. "We need their help to get you back to your proper body."

_I am sure that Ratchet and the other Autobots would help us,_ Prowl pointed out.

"Yeah, sure," Charles said, rolling his eyes. "Hi, Autobots, you don't know me, but I have your dead friend in my head and I want him out. No, I'm not using your grief for a dead friend as a practical joke, I'm serious."

_Good point, _Prowl sighed. _It __does __seem like a rather cruel joke. I just hope the Constructicons have __improved__ their attitudes since we last met, or we will be hard pressed to earn their help._

Charles came to a large clearing in the woods, donned only with a collection of boulders in the center area.

"Where _are _those guys, anyway?" Charles ventured, climbing to the top of a boulder and shielding his eyes to peer about. "You've met them before, right? So you should be able to know where their hide out is."

_The Constructicons are known war criminals for abandoning the Decepticons. All I know is that they were hiding out here on this island, but rumor has it that they may have moved to Canada—wait, what was that?_

Charles heard it, too; a snapping of sticks behind him.

He spun around_, _flicking his eyes back and forth across the tree wall. Then he saw it; a twinkle of light on metal high up in the leaves. Just as he spotted it, the leaves around it shifted and were pushed aside as a giant stepped out. Charles' jaw dropped and he took a step back. He foot slipped and almost fell off the boulder, but he felt the foreign presence in him take over and readjust him, setting him on firm footing on the boulder.

"Oh, slag me," Charles whispered.


	10. Training Session

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 10: Training Session**

_You call that a punch?_ Macbeth demanded. _It's sloppy and loose! You're wasting energy in starting it, but you let it just go all over the place by the time it actually hits your target. Stiffen your arm, firm your muscles—or whatever you have for them—and don't let your arm just go limp like that after you hit, so you can be ready for the next one!_

** "Shut up!!!" **Hot Head Blitzwing snarled, leaving the punching dummy alone to clutch his head. **"Shut up, shut up, shut up! I have been fighting for eons longer than you have, human, I know how to fight!"**

_I've been training rich parents' brats to fight for the past eight years and they fight better than you,_ Macbeth sneered.

If he was this moody to the giant robot he was stuck in, could one imagine how he could get to the aforementioned _brats_?

Blitzwing emitted an angry roar as he slammed one of his fists into the punching dummy. Sparks flew from the metal knuckles and equally metal figure as it swayed back on its pole, only to snap back and slam into Blitzwing. Blitzwing stumbled back and fell onto his back end emitting a machine cough-snarl in rage. Although the other personalities showed no outward sign of it, Macbeth felt a weepy dart of humiliated frustration dart through the Blitzwing personalities and blinked in surprise.

Odd, he wondered in his private mind space. Did I just upset him? Well, I suppose that would make sense, considering that he prides himself as a warrior. To be bested by an inferior race's off spring would be too much. I'll let off of the idiot for now.

_Get up, _Macbeth ordered. _And try again. You're too good to just focus on touching your fists on something. Actually put some force and damage behind your punches, control them, and you'll do better._

Now he felt a quick, puffy bubble of pride cross through Blitzwing as Hot Head got back to his feet and punched the dummy again. Either Blitzwing was starting to let his guard down around Macbeth, or Macbeth was starting to feel Blitzwing's emotions. It was somewhat odd and felt rudely invasive, but Macbeth decided that as long as Blitzwing didn't officially bring up the subject, he would not mention the emotion feeling.

"Still having a rough time with the human in your glitch filled processor, Blitzwing?" Blackarachnia cackled.

Blitzwing looked up from the dummy and at the balcony level lining the training chamber they were in. Blackarachnia was sitting on the railing of the balcony, legs crossed and smirking down at Blitzwing. Macbeth couldn't help but feel a tinge of attraction at the slim limbs, the cool light reflections, and the wonderfully feminine frame, but forced himself to set aside the feelings. Not only where they two (or three, considering her situation) different species, but they were in a training session and he _hated _distractions in a training session.

_If she is not joining us in a training session, then she should either keep her mouth shut or leave, _Macbeth growled. _Distractions are __not __welcome when I'm teaching._

"**Who said you're teaching?"** Hot Head Blitzwing muttered, punching the training dummy.

_Well, you're taking my tips, aren't you? _Macbeth chuckled.

Hot Head's face fell in surprise and he stepped back from the dummy. In their black void, Hot Head stepped away from the control area and Cold stepped in. Hot Head began to massage his arms in the mental representation void while Cold, oddly enough, mimicked the same motion in the physical world as he turned and looked up at Blackarachnia.

"If you insist on being a distraction, then why don't you come down here and train or leave?" Cold Blitzwing asked with a tone as frozen as his name sake.

"Offer accepted," Blackarachnia said and dropped down from the balcony.

"Oh, great," Blitzwing muttered, stepping back from Blackarachnia as she landed in a crouching position in front of him.

_No powers, _Macbeth said.

_**Who said that you're making the rules??**_ Hot Head demanded.

"No powers," Cold told Blackarachnia.

_**WHAT!?**_

"I'm game for that," Blackarachnia snickered.

Blackarachnia suddenly leaped high over Blitzwing's head, crossing her arms like a mummy across her chest as she spun around and flipped over Blitzwing, landing behind him. Blitzwing turned and brought up his arms to block off Blackarachnia's first two strikes. Blackarachnia retreated her arms and kicked high up at Blitzwing's face. He caught the heeled foot and spun it, flipping Blackarachnia through the air. She kept herself from hitting the floor by hand springing off the floor and doing a back flip away from Blitzwing, landing in a crouching position.

_Good, good, _Macbeth approved. _Watch for her flexibility!_

Blitzwing punched at Blackarachnia, crouching to get to her level, but she easily slithered under and to the side of his punch before standing up, weaving over his arm to get a direct punch at Blitzwing's face.

_Left hand up!_ Macbeth shouted.

Blitzwing complied and succeeded in catching Blackarachnia's hand. She attempted to pull out, but Blitzwing held onto it as he stood up, making Blackarachnia stand with him. Blackarachnia squeaked in pain as she struggled to pull her hand from Blitzwing's grasp.

_That's enough, Blitzwing, you got her, _Macbeth said. _Let go._

"Round one goes to me," Blitzwing said. He released Blackarachnia, giving her a small shove as he stepped back. Cold Blitzwing stepped away from the mental control and Random stepped in, switching the faces as need be on the external body so that the jack-o-lantern face was in control.

"Let's do round two!" Random chuckled.

This time it was Blitzwing who made the first move. He darted forward and made to tackle Blackarachnia. Blackarachnia stepped aside, but Random Blitzwing did not tumble, but land easily and spin around, using the full force of his spin and shoulder to slam a fist into Blackarachnia's side and slam her into a wall.

"Woot! Round two goes to personality number two!" Random cheered, punching the air and jumping. He flashed the peace sign with both hands.

_Random that was too harsh! _Macbeth snarled, _It's only a training exercise!_

"Oh, chill out, Macbeth," Random chuckled, "She is fine, see? She is getting up!"

Indeed, Blackarachnia was getting up, but slowly and while clutching her side. Her face said she was in pain, but she clearly managed to crack a smile.

"So, the human's name is Macbeth, eh?" she grunted through her pain. "Well, Macbeth, my name is Blackarachnia, and since I lost this round, I want to fight you in the next one."

_***What???***_ all the Blitzwing exclaimed.

"Sure," Blackarachnia huffed, standing tall and facing Blitzwing while clutching her side. "Just a quick little fight to see how well a fleshling fights in a Transformer body."

"**Absolutely not!"** Hot Head snarled, taking control of the body, **"I want this thing ****out**** of my head! I am ****not**** letting it use my body!"**

_ Tell her that I decline the invitation for combat, _Macbeth told Cold Blitzwing. _She is injured and the terms of my peaceful existence in you forbids me from taking control of your body._

Blackarachnia watched as Hot Head's face disappeared in a blur of moving parts—a process that set even the hardiest mech off ease—and saw Cold Blitzwing's monocle face stare at her next.

"Macbeth declines the invitation on the ground that you are injured and our house rules of my body forbid him from using the body."

He tilted his head to the side and grimaced as Macbeth added something else. Sighing, he rolled his optics, but leaned forward and held a hand out to Blackarachnia.

"But he insists that I be a gentle-mech and escort you to the medical bay as an apology for injuring you," he added.

Blackarachnia smirked. "Put the Random personality out again."

Blitzwing complied and Blackarachnia punched him in the face, knocking him clear onto his back.

"I feel better now," Blackarachnia hissed before limping out of the room.

Random sat up as rubbed his face and groaned, "Wa-wooh! The femme has a punch like a sentient asteroid!"

_**See? **__**This**__** is why we aren't nice to her!**_ Hot Head snapped at Macbeth in their mental void. _**She is rude and a manipulative glitch!**_

_It does not matter whether your kindness is returned, _Macbeth replied coolly. _It is in woman's nature to be cruel and manipulative. Your only defense is to treat her kindly and hope that you do not accidentally cross her._

_*Then why are you not more gentlemanly to Strika?*_ Cold Blitzwing asked.

To this, Macbeth blinked, then grimaced in distaste. _That__ is a female?_

Random burst out into loud laughter, rolling across the floor of the battered training room. Passerby would feel a shiver run up their spinal units, but keep going, knowing full well of Blitzwing's mental state and not wishing to encounter it.

- - - -

Shockwave, mean while, was in his laboratory. Every computer screen available was filled with page after page after page of notes and data on the human brain. Documents, diagrams, official texts, new and old, and even brain surgery videos were up. One may have found it queasy, or strange, but it was science in its best form to Shockwave and hence he scarcely cared and instead had entered into a peaceful trance-like state of thinking. He had already created a holographic program stimulator to tell him what would happen if he did certain things to a human brain in the process of transferring a human presence to and from a Transformer processor.

Now he tapped in some data about how it would work if he attempted to copy the human conscious data from Blitzwing's processor and attempted to install it into a computer chip. He had done research on Macbeth and saw that his body had been destroyed in Lugnut's punch. That meant that the only option left was to install Macbeth's mind into a computer disk.

"Success rate: 16 %," the computer voice said blandly. "Side effects: Failure to learn or mature brain any further…"

Shockwave did not care for the side effects; he just needed to get the human out of Blitzwing's head and no more. What he was aiming for was a high success rate in the upper eighties and nineties. That goal alone was proving to be more difficult than he thought.

The side effects finished listing themselves off and Shockwave mutely went on to the next stimulation. After a while, he called a mech in and they came obediently.

"Greetings, Soundwave," Shockwave told the Spark Born, "I want you to collect some organics and bring them here, unharmed and alive. I'll need test subjects for the device I am making to get the organic out of Blitzwing."

"Order: confirmed," Soundwave droned, "Inquiry: Why help the triple changer?"

"Blitzwing is a hand full enough without a _fourth_ person in his mind," Shockwave replied. "The sooner we get the human out of his processor, the less likely chance we'll have of him melting down or something of the sort."

"Very well," Soundwave responded, "I shall fetch suitable organics now."


	11. Jurrasic Park

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

** Chapter 11: Jurassic Park**

Rick grumbled and kicked at the sand of the beach. Most people would feel happy to be on such a clean, private beach on such a lovely day, but Rick was only agitated at how he felt his metal arm getting hotter and hotter the more he was in the sun. He came upon a section of the beach where the sand was replaced by smooth, moss-covered rocks and spotted with tidal pools. A cliff walled the beach opposite the waves.

"I mean, this is ridiculous!" he exclaimed, holding up the arm that he thought was metal. "I _know _that this isn't real, but it's still getting hot enough to bake eggs on!"

He stopped and knelt by a tidal pool, dunking his "robot" arm into it to cool it off. He ignored the steam that rose from the pool, writing it off as apart of his elaborate hallucination as he looked out to the lake and the Detroit sky line in the distance.

"Ugh, and will you look at that?" he went on. "The city's so close that we could have just done all this with a telescope from an apartment roof! Man, once this whole crazy issue is cleaned up, I'm high tailing it outa here, I swear. No more robots and their crazy mumbo jumbo! Just good old Las Vegas and all its crime-filled glory…"

_Stop complaining and look up, dumb aft!_ A nasally male voice snarled in his head.

Rick's heart stopped momentarily in shock at clearly hearing the voice. His next instinct was to obey it.

He looked up and at first only saw a large grey, moss-covered cliff. But then he saw among the grey and green and splash of lime green. True, the cliff was water and mud stained with vines and all sorts of other forest trash covering it, but this green was too bright for moss. Connected to it were grey and dark purple limbs, creating a tall, tall, tall long-legged humanoid figure, complete with red glass eyes and an over sized chin made of a construction machine's scoop. In one hand, the giant had a boulder and the other, a recently torn up tree. What it was doing with such things, Rick had no idea. After a minute, the giant dropped the boulder and tree, causing a small earthquake with their impact. Rick jumped with the impact and lost his footing, falling back on his butt in shock. He spotted a purple Decepticon insignia branded on the giants' chest.

_I-i-i-is that a C-c-c-Constructicon?_ He wondered. _It's—it's huge!_

_ Well, it was made from a bull dozer and it's a Decepticon, of course it's huge,_ the nasally voice snapped impatiently._ Well, don't just sit there with your mouth open! Do something!_

Rick cussed.

_Something intelligent, _the voice added.

Not knowing what else to say, Rick steeled himself up, as if he were about to mouth off to a major crime boss, and forced himself to his feet as he spoke.

"You a Constructicon?" he growled.

"Uh, yeah," the giant replied, "Name's Scrapper. Who's askin'?"

The Constructicons' accent was that of a heave Brooklyn one; the type of voice you hear cat calling pretty women in the street.

"My name is Rick Spinster, and some friends of mine and I have a problem that we were hoping that you and your buddies could help us out with."

- - - -

At first, all he saw was black, red, and yellow metal. Then Charles' mind cooperated and said, oh, haha, it's a thirty foot tall T-Rex, isn't _that_ something?

"Oh dear sweet mother Mary and father of football," Charles gasped.

_That's Grimlock! Let me talk to him! _Prowl said. _He knows me!_

"How do I do _that_?" Charles muttered.

_Just let me talk,_ Prowl assured.

Charles watched as the robotic T-Rex, Grimlock, stepped forward and out of the forest. The machine reared its head back and a low rumbling grew in its mouth; it was growling. Oh sweet mama, Prowl better do something fast or Charles was going to see just how fast he could go on his own two feet—

"Grimlock, wait! It's me, Prowl!"

Charles widened his eyes in shock at the British voice that had spoke for him, or at least tried to. As his body stepped forward on the boulder, holding his hands over his head in a peaceful gesture, Charles realized that he had no more control of his body. It was a terrifying experience and yet, at the same time, fascinating. The resulting mix of indignation, fear, and awe held him quiet as Prowl dealt with Grimlock.

"Puny human is not Prowl!" Grimlock snarled. "Prowl is big, nice yellow and black robot! But… , me Grimlock smell Prowl on puny human."

Grimlock growled in agitation as he lowered his head to Charles's/Prowl's level.

"What is going on?" Grimlock growled. "Prowl died last time nasty Decepticons fought on mainland."

"Something strange is happening, friend Grimlock," Prowl cooed, patting Grimlock's enormous muzzle boldly. "My physical body _did_ die, but my Spark did not pass on. Instead, it took up residence in this body and I have been sharing it with its human owner. The same thing has happened to two other people and we are here now to see if the Constructicons can help us get us to our proper bodies."

"How does me Grimlock know that puny human speaks the truth?" Grimlock snarled. "How does Grimlock know that puny human isn't just stupid or crazy?"

_How ironic, _Charles commented.

"When you were first created," Prowl said. "You were trapped in a pit of tar and my friend, Bulkhead, and I released you here on this island. Later, I helped get a thorn out of your foot. And you once worshiped a spider lady as a goddess!"

"You tell truth!" Grimlock yipped in surprise, "Poor Prowl stuck in tiny, weak human body! Me Grimlock help you find Construct—Constra—Con—uh, me Grimlock help you find _other _island 'bots to help you! Build-y bots are rude, but they good company when you set them on fire a couple times."

_Set them on fire…?_ Charles wondered.

"Thank you, Grimlock," Prowl said, bowing low. "I am in your debt. And for the record; the human who owns this body is called Charles, Charles…"

_Hamster._

"Charles Hamster." Prowl did a double take and turned his head to the side, as if to look behind himself. "Charles _Hamster_? Is that right?"

_Yes, _Charles replied with a mental sigh. _Now you see why I only go by my first name._

"Well, ninja rodent," Grimlock said, turning away. "Follow me Grimlock! We find build-y bots soon!"

Grimlock shuffled away and Prowl had to move Charles' body at a slow run to keep up. Charles had to admit that it was something to be admired at how Prowl moved his body so efficiently and quietly; no twigs snapped under his usually clumsy feet and scarcely a leaf moved in his passing. Charles was glad to see that his body did not wind easily, either; he prided himself on keeping a fit body.

_You treat your body well,_ Prowl noted, thinking the words instead of speaking them.

_I'm a cop; I gotta keep fit,_ Charles replied, attempting to "play it cool".

_And yet, Captain Fanzone of the police force is far from shape, _Prowl said with a hint of humor. A smile twitched at the corner of Charles' mouth.

_Yeah,_ Charles laughed. _Umm, about my body…_

_Do you want it back?_

_Well, it depends: Will the mechanical member of Jurassic Park in front of us chew me up if I am?_

_Grimlock is not a mindless beast,_ Prowl said. _But, just in case, I better be here incase he gets confused again._

_Good call. Better to be safe than sorry. I wonder what the others are doing?_

- - - -

Toby was sitting on top of a cliff enjoying a sandwich. He looked to his right at a red, yellow, and blue robot Pteranodon—a type of flying dinosaur. He looked at his sandwich, then held it out to the Pteranodon.

"Sandwich?" he asked through a mouthful.

- - - -

"So you're saying that you got a Decepticon in ya?" Scrapper asked, pointing at Rick.

_Not just __any __Decepticon! Starscream! Future leader of the Decepticons and—_

"Not just any Decepticon," Rick said, rubbing his head, "Starscream, the biggest horn-blower and cry baby of 'em all."

Starscream snarled something incoherently in Rick's head as a sudden headache developed. The pain in his forehead became a spike, but he suppressed the urge to yelp in pain. Scrapper, on the other hand, laughed and swatted the ground, making rocks and water jump.

"Yeah, that does it," Scrapper laughed. "Anyone who's been with in ten yards of Screamer for more than ten minutes knows that he's got the biggest head full of hot air for light years around."

"And on top of that," Rick said, looking at his robotic arm, "I think I got his arm."

"Yeah, what's with that?" Scrapper asked, eyeing the arm. "My scanners get all weird and fuzzy around there, like I'm supposed to be seeing one thing, but I'm looking at another."

"_I_ see Starscream's arm here," Rick said, pointing to the infected arm. "But my friends said that it's just the same old, same old."

"Man, that's weird."

"Precisely why I'm here."

"Well, I dunno if my buddies and I can actually whip up a miracle machine to set things right, but I can try," Scrapper said. "But I gotta ask: What's in it for me?"

"Oil, parts, tune ups, wax jobs, I'm a crook by nature, I got connections," Rick listed off confidently. "Name a decent price and I'll deliver it _if_ you can help me."

"And your other guys, the uh, speedy one with Blurr and cop with Prowl, right? They'll throw in some oil?"

"Right," Rick growled reluctantly as his shoulders drooped, "Toby, the damnable stool pigeon, and Charles the handcuff carrier. They _better_ pitch in."

"Well, come on and let's go find our friends," Scrapper said, standing up. "It's not like we're doing anything important."

At that moment, branches snapped near by and they turned in time to see Grimlock and Charles come out of the woods.

"Woha!" Rick shouted, jumping back. "That's a dinosaur!"

"Well, yeah," Scrapper said, looking at Rick like he was dumb, "Why d' ya think they call it _Dino_bot Island?"

"Rick, Grimlock. Grimlock, Rick," Charles introduced in the British accent when the two parties met. He held a hand out to Rick. "I'm Prowl." He said.

Rick stared at Charles' body with hanging shoulders and a dropped jaw, clearly in pure disbelief of the introduction. He ignored the hand, or failed to notice it at all.

Charles cleared his throat nervously and shook a little. When he next spoke, it was in Charles' own, slightly-country drawl.

"So, who's this guy?" he asked, looking up at Scrapper.

"Scrapper's m' name, building things is m' game," the Constructicon said with a small salute. "Rick already told me about your predicament and I'll see if I can get the other members of the team on it. We're bored enough as it is, and if there's oil in it, we'll do it. I'm not one for fancy stuff, but Dirt boss is pretty smart when he shows it."

"Ah, great," Charles said, drawing out his walkie talkie. He pressed its button and said into it," Charles to Toby, come in Toby. We found the Constructicons. Well, one of them, at least. Charles to Toby, come in." He waited a moment and rolled his eyes before trying again, "Come on, Toby, what's the hold up?"

A bird of prey's screech ripped through everybody's hearing as a shadow passed by, turning their sights to the sky as an enormous flying beast circled around them before landing near by. The beast, a red, blue, and yellow robot Pteranodon, stretched its wings and neck as it emitted another triumphant, cheery screech. On its back, Toby sat proudly with a large grin spread across his face.

"Hi, guys!" he whooped, "Say hi to my new friend, Swoop!"

"No way…" Rick whispered. He looked at the others and tossed his hands at Swoop and Toby. "Why couldn't _I_ meet and ride the cool dinosaur!?"

- - - -

A few hours later, the sun had set and gone, leaving only starry skies over head to watch the group meet up with the other Constructicons and Dinobots in a large meadow in the center of the island. Introductions were passed, stories told, and the important issues addressed.

"So, do we got a deal or what?" Rick asked the Constructicons. "Everyone knows that you guys are geniuses and can make just about everything. Can you make something to get these robots out of our heads and put everyone in their proper bodies?"

"I dunno," the short, green, moody Constructicon known as the Dirt Boss grunted. "What's in it for us?"

"I heard you guys like oil, and I got connections; I can get whatever you want. Just say the price and _get me my personal private space back!"_ Rick yelled.

"I like the sound of that!" Dirt Boss laughed. "Alright then, what do you think, boys?"

"I say sure," Scrapper said. "I'm not doin' anything else."

"Eh, yeah, why not?" the pot-bellied Constructicon with a beard-like paint job called Mixmaster said, "We get oil, we get to build something, and we get to _do_ something. Scrapper and I talked about this a little while we were waiting for the Dinobots to show up and we got a basic idea of what to make down. Body-switching machines are over rated. You just need to bring us one thing other than yourselves."

"What's that?" Toby asked.

"The bodies of the bots' you're stuck with."

A brief pause followed then the humans groaned.

"Prowl says that his body is on Cybertron," Charles groaned.

"Blurr's got squished into a _cube_!" Toby wailed.

"Pfft, so?" Rick demanded in a weird, high-pitched, nasally voice, "All we have to do is get the two-timing market dealer, Swindle, or the bounty hunter, Lockdown, to get the bodies here."

"Rick…?" Charles asked. "Your voice."

"SLAG!!" Rick yelled, clutching his head and looking to the sky. "Don't do that to me, Screamer!"

"Actually, that's a good idea," Scrapper said. "I heard about Swindle and Lockdown. They're not very trustworthy, but they get the job done. You just gotta find out a way to pay 'em."

"Leave that to me," Rick said in his regular voice. He prodded a proudly puffed chest with his thumb and went on, "I'm a _pro_ at double dealing!"

"You better be," Charles growled, "For _all_ of our sake."

"Me Grimlock and other Dinobots like Prowl for helping us," Grimlock said. "And since Prowl is in Hamster body, then we will help build-y bots!"

"Great," Dirt Boss grumbled, "A bunch of clumsy footed buffoons that like setting us on fire are gonna help; this'll be fun."

"_Hamster_?" Rick asked, looking at Charles. Toby began snickering.

"My… full name is Charles Hamster," Charles said quickly, looking away to hide his embarrassment. "It's why I go by my first name."

"I… am _so _blackmailing you when this is over," Rick said, pointing at Charles.

"I… am so _shooting_ you when this is over you," Charles said, pointing at Rick.

"Touché', cop, touché." Rick muttered with an approving nod.


	12. Energon Raid

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 12: Energon Raid**

_Where are we going today?_ Macbeth ventured.

_*We are running low on energon, so we are going to go raid some factories,*_ Cold Blitzwing replied.

_Energon?_

_*It is energy taking the form of glowing purple liquid.*_

_It's nutritious and delicious! Part of a good breakfast!_

_**And it's certainly less disgusting than **_**organic **_**food!**_

_*The cubes we are carrying absorb a near by source of energy, turning it into energon. When the cube is full, a cap will form on it and we can take it back to base for storage and use.*_

_And we can stack it, make pyramids from it, and make things go boom!_

_Make… things… go boom?_

_**Yeah, energon cubes are highly unstable if not treated properly, so don't bug us and make us drop any, stupid human, or we'll be mopping up the ashes with **_**your **_**squishy carcass!**_

_That would make it _your _carcass too, doofus._

_**This is our body, not yours!!!**_

_No need to shout._

_**Yes, there is need!!!!**_

_*Oh, shut up.*_

When Blitzwing had stepped out of the Decepticon base on the moon that morning with the raiding party and started flying to Earth, Macbeth had thought that they would take forever to get to Earth. But when they had broken through the stratosphere five minutes later, he realized that he had sorely underestimated the superiority of Transformer technology. It was certainly an admirable quality, the technology. Now Blitzwing, Lugnut, Blackarachnia, and a giant black robot called Blackout were flying over some place in America, with Blackout carrying Blackarachnia, and looking none too happy about it.

Blackarachnia grunted as she shifted in Blackout's arms, complaining, "Can you be a little more _gentle _with the carrying? My thorax is kissing my liver!"

"Shut up or I'll drop you," Blackout grunted.

_Now, that's a bit excess,_ Macbeth scolded.

"Oh, please, not the chivalry speech again," Cold Blitzing groaned, turning over in the air as he gripped his head.

"The _what_?" Blackout asked as Blackarachnia smirked in his arms.

"The human stuck in Blitzwing's head keeps going on about being nice," Blackarachnia snickered. "And frankly, watching him torture the triple-changer has been the high light of my day for a while now."

Blitzwing flew over to Blackout suddenly and took Blackarachnia up in his own arms, bridal-style. Everyone stared at Blitzwing in confusion as he turned to his Hot Head face.

"**Just to let you know, I'm only doing this to shut him up," **he snarled.

Internally, Macbeth did a dance of triumph and dodged a punch from Random.

"Look, there!" Lugnut suddenly exclaimed, pointing a massive claw of a hand downwards, "_There _in lays our key to the Master's freedom!"

_Okay, now this guy is just getting annoying,_ Macbeth groaned.

_***Agreed!***_ the other three Blitzwing personalities said, diving downwards.

Blackarachnia squeaked and gripped Blitzwing about the neck and Blitzwing promptly ignored her. Macbeth watched the clouds and wind zip by around them, feeling as if he were on a roller coaster. He could feel the same weightlessness Blitzwing felt at the freedom and it took a degree of self-control to keep him self from crowing in excitement. The other Blitzwing aspects occasionally glanced at him as if they sensed his excitement and questioned its source. They would never understand the excitement Macbeth would get at being able to fly; they had always been able to take to the skies.

The clouds parted and below, he could see a hydraulic water power dam, crossing over a river like a band-aid across a blue vein.

Blitzwing landed on a roof and set Blackarachnia down, adding a small shove for good measure, and Blackout and Lugnut followed soon after. Blackarachnia reached over her back to the pack strapped there and pulled some silver sticks from it. She held the sticks in front of herself and they unfolded and connected together to become a cube's frame.

"Alright, boys, let's get paid," she said.

The other mechs reached into the packs they had and did like wise with the frames before moving over to some engines. Human workers panicked and fled, yelling incoherently. Blackarachnia kicked one of the engines, making it spit electricity when her heel broke the metal surface, and held her cube to the sparks. Macbeth saw the sparks land in the cube-frame, but rather than going right through, their white-yellow hue changed to purple and they became liquid droplets that landed on the bottom of the cube frame as if there were was actually a bottom to the cube frame. As he watched, a steady stream of purple liquid flowed from the turbine and into the cube.

_Ah,_ he commented, _So _that's _how it works._

_Please remove all stupidity and put it in the jar before entering the Blitzwing._ Random commented.

A repair truck had been parked to the side of the dam, but now Blackout stumbled over it and slammed his foot hard onto the ground to regain his balance. A shockwave spread from his foot and as one, all the machines turned off. The Decepticons blanched when their flow of energon stopped, and all turned to give Blackout a glare.

"Blackout!" they all yelled.

"Oops," Blackout stated.

He stomped the ground and another shockwave turned the machinery, as well as the flow of energon back on. Macbeth watched Blitzwing fill his first cube of energon before setting it aside, pulling out another cube frame, and doing the process over again. In the mental void of Blitzwing's head or the physical representation of it as Macbeth saw, he turned to the icon of Random Blitzwing.

_So, how many cubes are we supposed to fill?_ He asked.

_Five each,_ Random replied, holding up five fingers, _Under army rationing, that can go a long way!_

_Why is it purple, the energon?_

_Slagged if I know, _Random said with a shrug. _Why so many questions?_

_**Yeah, why **_**do **_**you have so many questions?**_ Hot Head growled.

_Just curious,_ Macbeth said with a shrug. _Humans are a naturally curious species._

"Is _that _why you bustle about like so many nanobots?" Cold asked aloud.

The other Decepticons looked at Blitzwing, but he ignored them.

_Nah, that's just humans doing their jobs, living their lives, and wasting their time,_ Macbeth said dismissively. _Fickle people, you know._

"Ah, that makes sense," Cold Blitzwing agreed.

"Blitzwing," Blackarachnia ventured, "Seriously, stop talking to your self, it's freaking me out."

Blitzwing snapped his Hot Head-faced head around to snarl into her face, **"And does it look like I care whether or not I'm freaking you out!?"**

_What's that sound?_ Macbeth commented.

_Everybody stop, hey, what's that sound? Everybody look at what's going down,_ Random sang.

But the Decepticons heard it, too, and raised their heads when they heard approaching engines. All the humans had ran away, so who could possibly be approaching?

"Autobots!" Blackout exclaimed, setting his energon cube and standing up.

"On ward to battle in the name of our glorious leader, Decepticons!" Lugnut yelled, pointing to the sky dramatically as he, too, stood up.

"**Oh, shut up," **Hot Head growled, standing and looking about.

Near by was a road leading to the main highway. Down this road drove a caravan: A red and blue fire truck, a green SWAT van, a red and white ambulance, a yellow and black sports car of some type, and a white and blue, sleek, race car. As they approached, they suddenly _changed_, bucking out their parts and lengthening them into arms and legs as they sprouted heads and other notable humanoid parts, such as hands and faces. Macbeth dropped his jaw in shock at the transformation, but the Decepticons were more focused on who was doing the transforming.

"The Autobots!" Blackout hissed.

"Great job stating the obvious, scrap head," Blackarachnia snarled, "Now let's fight them!"

_Blackarachnia's the smallest, _Macbeth said, _Have her finish filling the energon cubes while the rest hold the Autobots off, that way we can get out of here!_

Cold yanked Hot Head away from the controlling area and told the other Decepticons such orders as the two sides collided and fought. Blackarachnia protested, but did as she was told. Hot Head turned on Macbeth while angry, as usual.

_**Who says that **_**you **_**can give orders around here!?**_he snarled._** And why are you helping us, anyway?**_

_I'm just an advisor, _Macbeth said._ And I'm helping because if the Autobots kill you while I'm in you, I'm dead, too._

An enormous robot that had been the green SWAT van punched at Blitzwing, knocking him into the sky.

_*Shut up and pay attention, Hot Head!*_ Cold exclaimed.

Macbeth was confused—wasn't Cold supposed to pay attention, being the controlling aspect at the moment? Then he remembered that the personalities were connected: If one were distracted, then the others might be, too. Apparently, Blitzwing and his aspects' relationships were far more elaborate than Macbeth was aware of.

The floor tilted dangerously and Macbeth had to brace his feet in order to avoid tumbling heels-over-head into the darkness. Cold tumbled away from the controls, but Hot Head took control. In the real world, he corrected himself to hover in the air and release fire from his shoulder cannons onto the green SWAT van robot.

"**Take **_**this**_**, Autobot scum!"** he roared.

The SWAT van robot put an arm up to block his face and didn't even flinch under the flames. When the flames let up, he reared a fist back, only to have the fist de-attach itself from his wrist and swing about on a cable connecting it to the arm. The robot swung the fist about like a lasso over his head.

"The name is _Bulkhead!" _he yelled, flinging the fist up at Blitzwing.

Blitzwing received the fist to his face and even _Macbeth_ felt the sudden numbing pain at getting a one-ton hunk of metal slammed into his face. Blitzwing fell to the ground with a clatter of metal as a "smallish" yellow robot with black accents and horns flashed a thumb's up sign at Bulkhead.

"Nice move, Bulkhead!" he called.

"Thanks, Bumblebee," Bulkhead replied.

"I could use a little help here with Blackout!" a pot-bellied red and white robot yelled, facing the massive black Decepticon.

"I'm coming, Ratchet!" a tall red and blue mech called.

"Yo, Optimus, what _is _this place, anyway?" the blue-white robot called.

"It's a hydro-power plant, Jazz," Optimus grunted, blocking a blow from Blackout that was aimed for Ratchet. "Humans use the river to make energy."

"Hey, that's clever!" Jazz commented in approval.

Blitzwing, mean while, had gotten up and was fighting Bumblebee while Optimus and Ratchet faced off against Blackout and Jazz against Lugnut. Bumblebee was proving to not only be a small target, but a hard-to-hit-one. Fortunately, Bumblebee wasn't landing any major hits on Blitzwing, either.

_Okay, now this is just sad,_ Macbeth said.

"**Not now, Macbeth,"** Blitzwing growled under his breath through clenched teeth plates.

_All I'm saying is that you _could _just kick at the little bot that keeps ducking, but hey, I'm just a human who happens to know seven different fighting styles—_

With a grunt of effort, Blitzwing punched at Bumblebee, and when the little yellow bot ducked, Blitzwing kicked, catching Bumblebee by the abdomen and sending him flying up and back over the other bots heads. Cold took over the body and brushed his hands off, panting.

"Now," he panted, "On to more important matters."

"Hurry it up already!" Blackarachnia yelled, "I'm getting bored!"

Whir-click! **"Shut up and fill the energon cubes, femme!"**

"Go stuff yourself, triple-changer!"

Blackarachnia gasped and spun around when she saw Jazz sneaking up behind her.

"Just put your hands in the air and we can all be cool, miss," Jazz cautioned.

Blackarachnia hissed and swung a shapely leg up to kick Jazz in the head. The Autobot easily caught her ankle and frowned, as if unhappy with the idea of harming a femme. Before he could do anything, though, Blitzwing appeared at his side and punched him hard in the face, knocking him to the side.

"**Are you done with those cubes yet, or am I going to have to keep saving your butt!?"** Blitzwing snapped at Blackarachnia.

"I've _been _done," Blackarachnia snickered.

"**Great, let's go,"** Blitzwing said as he hastily picked Blackarachnia up. **"Blackout, Lugnut, we're done, let's get out of here!"**

Lugnut transformed and Blackout threw the energon cubes into his cargo haul while Blitzwing flew up and hovered over the Autobots. Blackarachnia sent webbing down on the Autobots, slowing them down long enough for the Decepticons to load up their loot and escape.

Just as they were taking off Jazz broke out of the webbing, ripping a length of it out, and swung it over his head before tossing it up at Blitzwing, catching him by his ankle. Blitzwing barked in surprise and annoyance and tossed Blackarachnia over to Blackout before back-tracking in an attempt to loosen the webbing. Jazz dug his heels into the pavement, but the slim ninja-bot was not strong enough to stay grounded and hence, was pulled into the air when Blitzwing flew by.

Into the woods beyond the hydro plant Blitzwing flew, transforming between robot and jet mode multiple times, shooting at Jazz, and doing many avian tricks in an attempt to dislodge the webbing. But Blackarachnia's webbing was tough, sticky stuff and refused to let go. At one point, Jazz finally succeeded in wrapping his legs around a large tree trunk, making Blitzwing pull up short with a snap of webbing. The two fell to the ground with a loud clatter of metal.

_Ouch,_ Macbeth noted.

"**Shut up,"** Hot Head growled.

Whir-Click! Blitzwing's face changed to the Cold personality as he leaped to his feet and turned around to face Jazz. The Autobot got to his feet and looked the larger Transformer up and down from behind his blue visor.

"Come on, mech," he groaned, "Ain't you tired of fighting yet?"

"No, actually, not really," Cold Blitzwing replied, clenching his fists.

Jazz shrugged, "Your problem, then."

Jazz suddenly lurched forward and spun around, sending a heel up to crash into Blitzwing's face. Blitzwing fell over and Jazz took advantage of the tumble to draw his numb-chucks and leap high over head, spinning his them as he prepared for a strike. Blitzwing rolled over and Jazz landed where the Decepticon had been. Blitzwing stood, turned, and faced Jazz, releasing an ice wave on the Autobot, but Jazz merely hand-sprung out of the way and onto a near by boulder.

"Come on, dog, just turn yourself in!" Jazz pleaded.

"I am not a dog," Blitzwing stated. Then he changed to Random, "I'm a pretty little pony!"

He released a volley of ice daggers at Jazz. Jazz leaped up, front-flipping through the air to land on Blitzwing's front, knocking him onto his back. Cold took over and begin wrestling with Jazz.

_For the love of Primus!_ Macbeth yelled, _He's creaming you!_

Hot Head turned on Macbeth, snarling, _**Do you think **_**you**_** can do better!?**_

_Yes!!_ Was Macbeth's confident, annoyed reply.

_**Oh yeah?**_

_Yeah!!_

_**Yeah?**_

_Yeah!!_

_**Yeah?**_

_Show us!_ Random whooped. He kicked Ice out of the control area, grabbed Macbeth by his shoulders, and shoved him into the control area.

Just like that, Macbeth could hear, see, and feel the world in a first-person point of view and not from the back seat of some dark void theatre. He was on the grass, his body leaving an imprint in the soil, and he saw and felt Jazz perched on his chest, arm raised to knock him out. He didn't stop to relish the feeling of having his own body again, nor gape over being in control of a Transformer body, or even question why Random had done what he had done. He was in a fight and had to act accordingly.

He seized Jazz's arm in one hand, stopping it, while the other hand struck up with lightening-quick speed to crash into Jazz's chin. Jazz's head snapped up to face the sky. Macbeth sat up and threw himself forward, pinning Jazz under him. Jazz attempted a head butt, but Macbeth weaved out of the way before head-butting Jazz from the side. He leaped to his feet and the dizzy-headed Jazz did like wise. Jazz recovered quickly and began to strike out at Macbeth, but for every strike he attempted Macbeth blocked. Duck, weave, bob, strike, block, duck, bob, weave; over and over again they did it without giving ground. Their arms blurred and whistled in the air, clanging with a collision of metal whenever they met.

Suddenly, their arms were crossed, blocking each other, and they found their faces close together, teeth plates clenched and breathing hard.

A click sounded just to the right of Macbeth's ear and Blackarachnia's voice appeared yelled, _"Blitzwing, get your aft back up here!"_

Macbeth felt something on his back open up and he was lifted clear off his feet and sent blasting backwards through the air. He tumbled backwards and found himself landing on his back end, back in the black world of Blitzwing's mind and out of control of the body. Random had pulled him out and now sat on the floor by him, laughing wildly while Hot Head stood to the side, shaking his head while Cold controlled the body.

_*That was _not _funny, Random,*_ Cold growled, keeping his optics on the control screens.

_Sure it was!_ Random exclaimed, _The looks on your faces were priceless and Shakespeare boy here totally kicked the ninja-bots' butt!_

_**Are you crazy!?**_ Hot Head yelled, _**We could have gotten killed!**_

_Hey, you were thinking of it, too! We all were! I just acted on it; it's my specialty!_

_*I _really _must learn to control myself,*_ Cold muttered. _*Or else my Random aspect is going to get me killed.*_

Again with the shifting between the personalities being individual persons and parts of a whole one. Macbeth decided not to try making sense of it.

_You can not hold me up to this, _Macbeth warned, _Your Random side made me do it and I could only act in defense._

_*I know, Macbeth, I know,*_ Cold replied simply.

For the rest of the trip, interestingly enough, none of the personalities spoke.


	13. New Guys

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 13: New Guys**

And now, an intermission to Soundwave's mission (hey, that rhymes!)

- - - -

At the same time as the Decepticons' Energon Raid, a couple of young gentlemen were finally hauling their late-night ravaged bodies from a night club and into the too-bright day light. Judging by the pale skin and the flashy, brightly colored clothing they wore, they were night birds by nature, living out their lives in the neon-lit world of bass-thumping club music and their nostrils burning with nightly alcohol. The way that they goofed off like children, in spite of being in their late teens at the latest proved that they were also used to being the life of the party, even when the party was absent.

Looking at their slightly squared, boyish faces and shared pointed-back spiked hair, large eyes, and small, but energetic smiles, one realized that they were twins. One was clad all up in lavender and light blue with wide-legged , belt-and-buckle covered jeans and tee-shirt with a purple bandana tied around his forehead. His brother was done up in an identical outfit, but scarlet red and black in color. As they exited the club, they made their way into the abandoned parking garage next door where their ride was parked; a super bright lime green van proudly proclaiming it to be a DJ service in splashy letters on the side.

"Dude, I'm telling ya, Rodney, that girl was totally checking me out!" the scarlet-black twin exclaimed.

"And due, I'm telling ya, Frank, that she was totally _not_," the lavender-and-light blue twin laughed. "I mean, if she didn't check _me_ out, then she would check _you_ out; we got the same face, bro!"

"Yeah, I just make it look better," Frank bragged, petting at his hair jokingly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, hey, you see that over there? That pile of dog crap?"

"Yeah, I see it. What about it?"

"That's your _real_ brother."

Frank exclaimed something and made to tackled Rodney. They were soon playfully fighting back and forth, exchanging mock punches and playing around. On the other side of the parking garage, a dark blue and gold news van rolled into the building casually and paused to scan the boys: Young, healthy, strong, firm mentality. They would do.

The boys found themselves sitting on the ground and kicking at each other when they stopped, hearing music. It was an enchanting track, mixed with organs, violins, and techno beats. Anyone listening to it would stop and be fascinated by the genius mix of old, classic instruments with preferred modern styles and be entranced, trapped where they were to do as they were told because that heavenly music demanded it so—

"Dude, nice tunes," Rodney whistled, "Can I get a tape of that?"

The music stopped with the sound of a record player being yanked off its phonograph. Soundwave, for once, was stunned. _No_ human had ever resisted his music before, _no_ one!

Whelp, time for Plan B…

The boys leaped to their feet when the van unfolded and stood up, becoming the mech that has been formally introduced as Soundwave. Rodney yanked a camera out of his pocket and snapped a picture, but Frank kicked him in the butt.

"Dude, let's _go_!" Frank yelled.

"Alright, alright, I'm going!" Rodney yelled back, running around to hop in the passenger seat of the van.

Frank got in the driver's seat and Rodney's door hadn't even shut before he had started up the van and fled the parking garage. Soundwave tsked and drew a red guitar from his back and flung it forward.

"Laserbeak: Pursue and capture with minimal harm," he ordered.

The guitar transformed in mid-air into a giant red and black robot bird. The bird screeched, a sound strangely kin to the strum of an electronic guitar, and flew after the van. Soundwave himself took back his vehicle form and followed on foot, or tire, if you will.

As Frank proceeded to drive like a mad man down the highway, Rodney got into the back of the van where their DJ supplies, as well as the remains of many fast food meals and dirty clothes, were kept. He pawed around and found a video camera, and began recording, frequently switching between recording himself, Frank at the wheel, and what ever he saw out the back of the van.

"Uh, hi," he greeted, "I'm Rodney Stillman, and that's my brother, Frank Stillman, and we're currently being chased by a giant transforming robot, so incase we, you know, _die_, I'm gonna make our obituaries—"

"It's o_bit_uaries, you moron! Not o-_bitch -_u-air-ies!" Frank exclaimed.

"Shut up, that's what I said! Anyway, we're being chased, we're gonna die, so here's our last words or whatever. We were DJ's-for-hire, totally screwed college, and lived life to the fullest, so no regrets there. Now for good byes: First of all, mom, I love you, but you seriously got to get help for your muffin obsession--oh Jesus Christ!"

"What?" Frank called, "What is it?"

"We got a freaking _bird_ after us!"

Frank was silent, then, "Dude, that's lame."

"Does it help if it's a giant robot bird with a wing span wider than the road?"

"Yeah, it does, actually. Panic away."

They both screamed. Laserbeak dove down in front of them, making Frank act instinctively and slam on his brakes, bringing the van to a sudden stop. Soundwave rushed up from behind, but was unable to stop in time and slammed into the van, knocking it clear off its wheels and off the over pass they were on, towards the ground below.

"And Dad, I'm sorry I didn't get you grandkids!" Rodney screamed miserably.

- - - -

The camera was in pieces on the ground. Plastic was shattered, tape was exposed to the elements, and any data in it was gone for good. Glass littered the ground around it like petals, and a lone, stinky, need-of-a-wash sock and shoe.

But that was all of the crash. Soundwave had just barely managed to transform, leap off the road, and catch the van before it smashed on the ground with his chosen targets inside. All that had happened was Rodney getting a bloody nose when his face smashed into the back of the van when it stopped suddenly, and the camera, as well as a sock and shoe, had been knocked clear through a back window. Now Soundwave stood with the van in his arms, carefully scanning his targets. Other than the bloody nose, both were still usable: Good.

Laserbeak landed on his shoulder and watched as Soundwave unceremoniously tore the roof right off the van. The brothers looked up with wide, terrified eyes at him. Well, it was terror, but there was also excitement too—you know, is it even _possible_ to be 100 percent terrified and at the same time, 100 percent excited?

Laserbeak shot out a quick dart of lasers from his eyes, vaporizing the belt strapping Frank to his seat. He flinched back and gasped, but before he could go anywhere, Soundwave reached in and plucked him from his seat. The chamber in his chest opened and he slid the surprised human inside. He reached in and seized up Rodney before he, too, could escape, and into the chest compartment he went.

Soundwave tossed the van over his shoulder, allowing it to crash with an extremely loud, cringe-worthy crunch of glass and metal on the pavement. He walked away a few steps as the cannon on his shoulder turned around to aim at the van. Soundwave didn't slow or falter as light flashed at the cannon tip, compacted into a ball, and shot at the van, blasting it with a flashing shockwave and deafening boom. A shockwave rushed right past Soundwave as exploding flames burst into the air. To any bystander, they would have screamed in shock, or at least ducked and ran at the sheer volume of the explosion—so much _force_ in such a little van!

But Soundwave being Soundwave, naturally, couldn't care less about a little fire and explosion.

- - - -

"Mission: Accomplished," Soundwave announced, entering Shockwave's laboratory.

"Excellent, bring them out," Shockwave ordered.

Soundwave opened his chest and reached in. He seemed to make a face and pawed around. Suddenly, there was a crunch noise and he drew his hand back, making a pained exclamation.

"What is it?" Shockwave asked.

"He bit me!" Soundwave replied.

"What…?"

"I _like_ it in here!" Frank whined from inside Soundwave's compartment.

Growling in frustration, Shockwave reached into Soundwave, ignoring any chance of discomfort, and yanked the two humans out from the sonic warrior, plopping them on a lab table. The twins looked about with wide, awed eyes at the robots and the laboratory. For them, this was becoming some sort of story where a character is kidnapped and finds themselves inexplicably in the middle of something big in some fan fiction.

"Do either of you have any history of mental illness in your family or suffer mental illness yourself?" Shockwave demanded, "Answer me straight, or I'll make your last minutes of humanity the worst in your life."

"Well, Frank is a retard, does that count?" Rodney asked.

Frank smacked him hard in the head, restarting their brotherly fight, but Shockwave quickly placed his claw between them, stopping their fight. Upon seeing his enormous claws, they swallowed nervously and answered in unison.

"No, sir, we do not have a mental illness."

"Do you have any peculiar physical health issues or abnormalities?" Shockwave asked.

"Um, does this count?" Frank asked, bared his chest, and began to flex his pecs. His lavender-light blue brother pointed and laughed.

"I'll take that as a no," Shockwave growled, scooping both boys up in either claw. "Let's get this over with."

Soundwave watched as Shockwave took the boys over to a crude machine rigged up especially as a test run. There was a machine making a cylinder of glowing light with several wires connected to it. When he placed the boys in side, they became instantly paralyzed, floating in the light. Shockwave quickly connected sticker-tipped wires to the boys' foreheads and bodies and tapped at a computer attached to the machine. Soundwave noted that there appeared to be a helmet-like device also attached to the machine. His examination told him that while the machine worked for little organics now, it would be a quick and simple matter of wire crossing to re-tailor it for larger mechs, like, say, Blitzwing.

"Say good bye to your pathetic flesh bodies, organics," Shockwave told Rodney and Frank as the machine charged up, "You will thank me for this later."

Soundwave's sensory systems were momentarily flooded by some sort of electrical discharge. When they were back on line, the human boys were gone from the column of light and the helmet device was smoking. Shockwave powered down the machine and walked over to the helmet placed on the table beside the light column.

"Inquiry: Fate of humans?" Soundwave asked.

"Their bodies were turned into energy for the transaction," Shockwave replied, lifting the helmet off, "Let's see if it worked."

Smoke billowed up from the helmet. When it cleared, Soundwave saw two, large-human-sized Minicons lying under it. Both were identically humanoid, with long, round limbs, and broad, flat torsos with narrow waist lines. Cylinders made up guards around a part of their lower arms and booted their legs, and their helmets had spokes pointing backwards, similar to their human hair dos. Clear visors covered their optics, and each was identical to the other, with the exception that one was scarlet and satin black and the other, lavender and light blue.

They sat up, optics wide and confused before they mutely began looking themselves over.

"Inquiry: Origin of Minicons?" Soundwave asked.

"I've been engineering a crude sort of proto-form, so that the Decepticons won't have to _steal them_ from the Autobots every time we need fresh ranks," Shockwave explained, "The machine has just placed the minds of the organics into two prototypes of these proto-forms and used the extra energy to make them unique. As you see, they appear to be a smashing success, but fist, we must see if the ex-organics are fully functional in their new bodies."

He bent over the new Minicons and poked the scarlet-black one.

"Mech," he said, "What is your function?"

"Dude, Frank, I think he's talking to _you_," the lavender 'bot commented.

"I know _that_, Rodney, I'm just too busy enjoying how… how…" the scarlet-black 'bot leaped to his feet, arms out-stretched, "How _awesome_ this is! I mean, dude! Check me _out_! I'm a freaking robot!"

"So am _I_!" Rodney exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "Dude…"

"We're hot, we're cool, we totally freaking rule!" the boys sang together, double-high fiving in numerous ways.

"It appears that the test was a success, Shockwave," Soundwave commented.

"Yes," Shockwave purred, standing straight, "As is the mind transfer device. Now, not only will the Decepticons be able to make their _own_ proto-forms, but we will be able to get the organic out of Blitzwing's processor and get him, well, a little _less_ crazy than before. Have these new Minicons freshly broken and trained into the Decepticon cause. If they refuse, kill them."

Soundwave, Rodney, and Frank watched Shockwave leave before Rodney spoke.

"So, uh, can someone clue us in on what's going on?"

- - - -

"So a human called Macbeth got stuck in a schizophrenic robot's head, and we were the test subject for the device to get the human _out_?" Rodney asked.

"Affirmative," Soundwave agreed.

"But I heard the Cyclops guy mention that it takes energy to work the machine, which kinda meant destroying our bodies for it," Rodney pointed out, "So how is it going to work in reverse? And I saw that Macbeth guy on TV; poor sucker's body got barbecued in the blast. How is it gonna work in reverse _without_ a body to go back to?"

"Who cares?" Frank laughed, "We're freaking _robots_ now! No more bills and crappy coffee for us! Just sweet, sweet butt kicking."

"Aren't you a _little_ concerned that we have just lost _all_ connections to our lives as we know it and are now being shanghaied into an army that wants to _destroy_ our home planet?" Rodney asked.

"Nope," was the apathetic, but completely honest reply, "Survival of the fittest, bro! And between you and me, there're some humans who are dragging down the species, if ya know what I mean."

Frank elbowed Rodney in the side, but Rodney responded with an all-out punch to the face, knocking his brother clear to the floor. Soundwave stood to the side, watching as Frank scrambled back to his feet. He had seen the brothers' tendency to fight even in play and noticed how Rodney was more sensitive than his brother, Frank, who seemed more of the selfish, let-the-world-burn-while-I-smile kind of guy. A serious fight was imminent, so he had brought them to the training room to duke it out. If any powers emerged, the worse they could do was break some targets and training dummies.

Now, he sat on a bench and watched as the brothers lived up to his expectations.

"Hey! What was that for!?" Frank yelled at Rodney.

"Okay, we're robots, yeah, that's cool, woo hoo, now get back to reality!" Frank answered, waving his hands in the air, "We have been _kidnapped_ and _experimented on_ by _giant alien robots_ who want to _destroy our home planet!_ If we don't fight our own kind, we're dead!"

"Bro, we're already dead, anyway!" Frank exclaimed, "Did you _see_ what Mr. Monotone did to our _ride_? It's gone and trashed, people will assume we died. Our bodies are gone, so there's no going back. I admit, I'm gonna hate it when I have to start popping people I know in the face, too, but you gotta face the facts too, Rodney, that we can't go back, so deal with it!"

Ah, so Frank wasn't selfish; just adaptive. He saw the way things were and rolled with them. Rodney shared the same naïve stubbornness as the Autobots and most humans: The idea that things can be undone through sheer will power, when everything points to otherwise.

"Well—I mean—can't you—"Rodney spluttered, "Can't you at least _pretend_ to be upset about this!?"

Frank grinned and bared his chest. Rodney laughed; apparently the pec flexing was an inside-joke. But rather than pec-flex, a sudden screech came from Frenzy, actually rippling the air as it flew through it. Rodney hit the ground and the ripple flew over head, crashing into a dummy. Activated by an attack, the training room lit up as automated dummies perked up and non-fatal booby traps activated.

"Training session: Begin," Soundwave droned.

"Now you've done it," Rodney squeaked.

Then they were running for their lives. Missiles and lasers that they didn't know were harmless went flying at them from all sides. They ran back and forth in an amusing display of agile self-preservation with their arms over their heads like what one does when one is protecting against bugs.

Rodney slipped and fell hard on his stomach. He turned over and saw a missile coming right at him. He brought his hands up to shield himself, but something weird happened. His arms suddenly swelled up into perfect cylinder pile drivers attached to his shoulders. Before he knew what he was doing or how he was doing it, the pile drivers darted out and slammed into the missiles, head-on, shattering them. He heard many screeches near by and looked over to see Frank using his new-found ability to eagerly destroy everything in sight with sonic blasts.

Soundwave came over and helped Rodney to his feet as his arms turned back into arms. They both watched with mute awe, and even somewhat horrified admiration as Frank worked himself into a cackling frenzy, destroying anything that so much as _moved_ with his chest-originating sonic screeches. When there was nothing more to destroy, he turned to them, grinning and panting happily.

"Well," Rodney ventured, "That was…" He swallowed, "Interesting."

"New designations: Required," Soundwave said. "Inquiry: New Designations?"

"Ooh, cool, nicknames!" Frank exclaimed, "Alright, let me think, ah, I'm red and black, so how about El Diablo? No, no, been done before. Hmm, ah, Scarlet Shadow? Nah, sounds like a prostitute…"

As Frank struggled over a name, Rodney walked away from them and experimented, turning his arms to and from pile driver form with small mental flexes. Curious, he tapped the drivers to the floor. He jumped and looked up and around when he felt the tap vibrating in his feet and heard it rumble through the room. He tapped harder and the rumble was louder. Grinning, he began to tap out a beat that steadily grew stronger he grew more confident.

Tap, tap tap tap, tap.

_Rmble, rmmhmmhmmm, ble._

Tap tap tap tap tap, tap.

_Rhmmhmmhmmhmmhmm, ble._

"That's it! I'm calling myself Frenzy from now on!" Frank suddenly declared.

"Designation Frenzy, accepted," Soundwave confirmed. "Inquiry: New designation for 'Rodney'?"

Tap tap.

_Rhmble._

"Rumble," he whispered.

"What was that, bro?" Frank called.

Rumble stood tall, grinning as he lifted his pile drivers up high.

"Let's get ready to Rumble!" he whooped, slamming his pile drivers onto the floor.

Frenzy was knocked from his feet and Soundwave stumbled about for balance as the entire base shook. Light fixtures fell and already destroyed training equipment crumbled like dust. Blackarachnia and several other mechs stumbled to the doorway of the room and Blackarachnia clutched the door way, struggling to stand, even with _her_ extra legs.

"Soundwave, what—"she stammered, "Overloading Primus, what the Spark _is_ that?"

"Do moons have moon quakes?" Random Blitzwing whined.

Rumble stopped and turned his arms back to pile drivers, smirking over at the other Decepticons. He knew that he would feel guilty for joining the Decepticons eventually, but after cowering in the Detroit robots' shadows for so long, damnit, power felt _good_.


	14. Coffee

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 14: Coffee**

"Come back in three days," the Constructicons had said. Three more days of having a mental room mate. He knew that he should have called off work for those three days, to avoid any sort of complications with his co-workers incase he started talking to himself or behaving like Prowl again. But just as he was about to call in to call off those three days, a store robbery had been reported near by and he was the only cop available to answer the call.

_I feel your worries, Charles, _Prowl said , _Don't worry, I won't interfere._

_Thanks, it's nothing personal, but, you know, _Charles thought back. _I just don't want to go to the __insane asylum._

_Completely understandable. There's the store: Good luck._

The store currently being robbed was a tiny place on the corner of an intersection: The type of place with hardly more than three aisles with large windows. As Prowl pulled his motorcycle up to the store, he saw that there were four robbers, all young men with guns pointing to the elderly store owner and his wife behind the counter. Charles briefly considered calling for back up, but before he knew what he was doing, he was off his bike and entering the store, drawing the eyes of everyone there.

"I advice you to put those guns down, young men," Charles growled.

"What're you gonna do about it, pig?" the closest man to Charles snarled, aiming his shot gun at Charles' head.

"I will arrest you," Charles stated.

"Yeah, right, I'd like to see you _try,_ pig," the young man snarled with a few more explicative's.

Charles glared sideways at the man. He knew hat he should be more concerned for his safety, more nervous, more cautious. But rather than feel that, he was starting to feel a chilly, hard sort of energy building in his stomach and filling his limbs, quietly growling as he felt more and more emboldened by something else. He was getting mad, but there was something more to it.

"Don't call me a pig," he warned.

Of course, the robber called him a pig.

Charles acted without thinking. He grabbed the barrel of the gun, yanking forward on it so that the wielder stumbled towards him. His elbow came up, slamming into the man's face then reared back as it pulled his hand back and he stuck the heel of his hand into the man's forehead. All of this happened in less than five seconds.

The other three robbers turned their attention to Charles. By the time they turned, Charles' hand had found the throwing stars strapped across his chest and pulled three out. He flung them out and they caught up the smallest of the robbers, making him drop his gun before the stars pinned him by his sleeves to the wall.

The remaining two robbers' hands flexed to pull their guns' triggers. Charles spun around and brought his heel up, knocking the guns out from their user's hands. A quick strike to the chest, arm, neck, and head left the second-to-last robber swaying on his feet. Charles stood tall in front of the robber, clasping his hands behind his back. He blew on the man and he fell over, flat on his back.

He looked at the final robber. The look on the man's face: dropped jaw, wide eyes, and the way his entire body was trembling clearly showed his shock. Behind the counter, the shop owner, his wife, and the robber pinned to the wall, all had their jaws dropped wide open in shock.

"Are you ready to come quietly now?" he asked.

The last robber dropped down to his knees with his hands on his head. As Charles bent over to cuff the robber, he glanced out the door and saw none other than Officer Jesse and Officer James staring at him from the doorway. Their faces shared the exact same looks of shock as the shop owners.

- - - -

Charles sat on his motorcycle, watching as the would-be shop robbers were escorted into police cruisers. Safe with the idea of no one hearing him, he muttered to himself.

"Prowl, did you do anything just now, in the store?" he muttered.

_Not really, _Prowl replied. _I mean, I thought about what _I_ would do in such a situation and you did it. I didn't mean to interfere._

"So you didn't actually control me?"

_No. Why, what is the matter?_

"That was _not _my fighting style, it was yours," Charles growled. "I may know some disarming techniques and typical punches and headlocks, but all-out kung fu—"

_Cyber jitsu._

"Whatever it is, it's not me."

Sighing, Charles started up his bike.

"I suppose it's just me being paranoid…"

"Charles!"

Charles looked over and saw Jesse and James with a few rookies approaching him, all with excited, proud looks on their faces.

"That was so totally awesome, Charles!" Jesse exclaimed, "When did you learn moves like that??"

"Huh?" Charles asked dumbly.

"First you went whuah, then you went yesh-shaw! Then you went oooo-wooaaa!" one of the rookies said, making wild hand gestures.

"That was cool!"

"Yeah, nice moves!"

"Four gun-wielding tough guys taken out with your bare hands? Sweet!"

"Umm, thank you, but I have to go now," Charles said quickly.

Before anyone could stop him, he took off on his motorcycle, getting away from the crowd as quickly as possible.

- - - -

"What the hell was I thinking!?" Rick shouted. "How the hell am I going to contact a couple of alien dealers when I can barely even afford a phone with text messaging!? I mean, getting the twelve drums of oil for the Constructicons' payment is easy cheese, but well-protected bodies on another planet--!"

_Calm down, calm down,_ Starscream told Rick. _I was a scientist on Cybertron at one time. Making an interstellar communicator from Earth's primitive technology shouldn't be __too__ difficult. __My__ issue is __how__ we are going to convince Swindle and Lockdown to work for us. In this state I don't have anything they could want, which means that __you__ certainly don't have anything worthwhile for them._

_Well, then, I suppose we can lie, take the bodies and run, and pray that we can get out of their shot sight before we get vaporized._

"And this!" Rick turned around to face the full-length mirror, "What the _hell_, Starscream!?"

Rick's reflection was mainly human, but his right arm and lower legs were that of a robot and he had jet wings sprouting from his back, as far as he could see.

_Oh, well… you're on your own with that._

"This is your fault. I am going to kick your ass when you get your own body again," Rick growled.

_I'd like to see you try,_ Starscream snickered.

"I can't go out like this!"

_It's all in your head, remember?_

"Yeah, and 'it' is called _you_," Rick snarled. "Good lord, what am I going to do?"

_Look, all you have to do is do __exactly__ as I say and we should be able to get what we want __without__ getting killed or having either of our reputations ruined. Now, what I want you to do first is go to the Starbucks down the street and get some coffee._

"What, coffee, why?"

_Because one, you need to get used to this delusion of having parts of my body, and two, because I like it; it's the only thing you've put in your mouth so far that I like. No reproductive jokes, please._

"Eww, no, that would backfire on me," Rick grumbled, grabbing his wallet from the couch and leaving the apartment. "Man, I really hope that this _is_ just a hallucination or I'm going to get all kinds of crazy on my ass."

- - - -

"…Sonowwe'rewaitingforthe Constructiconstobuild theirmiracle machinesothatwecan gettherobotsou tofourheadsand IgotBlurr, whichexplainswhy I'msohyperandjacked uplatelyandhey, areyougettingcoffee? CanIhavesonecoffee IpromisethatIwon'trun ontheceilingoranything heyifIbehavemore likeBlurr doyouthinkIcan gethispowers tooandstartrunning atfasterthan lightspeeds?"

"No. Coffee." Detective Owl stated.

"Oh come _on_!" Toby whined.

Detective Owl and Toby were in Starbucks, grabbing the usual cup of coffee before they went off on a day of detective duties. Today, the couple would be nosing around to find out who killed one woman's cat. It was the lowest case on the importance ladder, and more boring than the usual cheating-spouse case, but whatever paid the bills worked.

"One cup?"

"No."

"How about half a cup?"

"No."

"Whatever you don't drink I can take?"

"No."

"Come on! You can backwash it!"

"No."

"I need my caffeine!"

"No you don't."

"Okay then, how about a sample cup?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Plea—oh, hey, I know that guy. Be back in a minute."

The guy Toby had noticed was none other than Rick. To the common outsider, he looked like a shifty, crook-like guy with a black leather jacket, battered jeans, and eyes that continuously shifted about as he stood in line waiting for his turn at the counter. To him, he kept feeling people brush into "his wings" and metal right arm. It was unnerving, to say the last.

"Hiya, Rick!" Toby yelled, appearing beside Rick.

Rick emitted a small scream and jumped, making several people look at him oddly before deciding that they had too little caffeine to deal with him and ignored him.

"Toby!" Rick hissed, looking around, "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry, man, but, hey, what's the matter? You look like some one has a hit on you because you look really nervous and scared, but not nervous and scared like a kid going to prom, because that's usually accompanied by a weird smell—"

"Toby, do you notice anything… _different_ about me?" Rick ventured, looking at his hand.

Toby looked Rick up and down several times before shaking his head.

"No, what do _you_ notice different about yourself?"

"I… I think I have part of Starscream's body," Rick then hastily corrected himself, "I mean, I _know_ that I'm in my human body and all, but, uh, I see myself and _feel_ like I have parts of Starscream's body, miniature. Do you get what I'm saying?"

"You're saying that you see yourself as part transforming alien jet robot," Roby said slowly, looking at Rick with a twisted look of confusion.

"Yes, that's right," Rick agreed, looking about fearfully. "And it's slagging _weird_! I mean, I swear that I keep feeling everyone bumping into my wings, but they don't even notice!"

"Have you tried transforming?"

"I'm delusional, not stupid; of _course_ I haven't tried transforming!"

"So… what are you doing here?"

"What else could I be doing here? Getting coffee! It's _way_ too early to be doing with this and I am _way_ too slow until I have my coffee."

"Okay, hey, can you get me some? Owl won't give me any, the big meanie, it's actually like he believes that my lack of interaction with coffee will slow my metabolism and speech rate and thus reduce me to 'normal' speed, which is ridiculous, concerning the fact that humans don't just slow down because the lack of caffeine, unless they're caffeine addicts, which Toby isn't. Toby's only had about three cups of coffee in his entire life time, so I doubt that he's a caffeine addict and besides, I'd be interested at how fast his body could go on caffeine—"

"B-Blurr?" Rick ventured, eyes widening in surprise.

If one were to switch to Rick's vision now, he would see, amidst all the humans crowded into the coffee shop, his part-Starscream self speaking to Toby. But even as Rick watched, it seemed as if the air wavered and became smoky with a blue and black mist around Toby, and when it cleared, there stood not Toby, but a slim robot, blue and black in color with a speed horn on his forehead and over sized, spiked shoulder units. No one else in the now-emptying coffee shop seemed to notice the two species-confused men or their conversation, fortunately.

Toby/Blurr stopped short, blinking and looked down at himself.

"Well," he said, "How do you like that? It appears that my conscious has finally grown strong enough to start over riding Toby's control over this body and I can take control all on my own, complete with being able to see it as I see fit. So this is being tiny, eh? Cute and fun, now I wonder if I can have that coffee now—"

Owl suddenly strode by, holding a large cup of coffee in one hand while the other snaked out and grabbed "Blurr's" arm, dragging him along with him to the door.

"I said _no_, Toby," Owl growled, "Now come on and let's finish this case."

"See ya later, Rick!" Blurr called, even as, in Rick and Blurr's vision, the shimmering mist encompassed his body and returned him to his human-appearing form.

Rick stood alone in the coffee shop for several moments, trying to wrap his head, or processor, around what had just happened.

"Sir, how may I help you?" the counter girl called.

"Coffee now, thinking later," Rick muttered, turning to the counter.

- - - -

Toby knew that he should be more concerned about Blurr over riding his mentality, but honestly, he just didn't mind. He had gone back to visit Dr. Phial and, apparently, due to Blurr's increased mental activity that could not be contained, it was constantly being shared with Toby, making the borders between Autobot and human blurry. He cautioned Toby and Blurr to keep them selves spaced; if they merged too much into one being, they could suffer schizophrenia, delusions, and might even not be able to separate come the time they could.

But Toby and Blurr didn't worry about that; the truth was that they switched between one and the other so quickly and smoothly, it was like twins finishing each others' sentences and completing each other. Toby handled body care and general every-day things, and Blurr hopped in to speak his mind when it was safe.

Blurr absolutely loved the way human blood rushed through human veins when they went out running, and the way the body seemed to melt after a nice, long, exhausting jog. It was slower, but so much more satisfying than his original body. Toby loved the buzz in his head he got with Blurr's mentality at work as the Autobot zipped from one thought to the other, merging it all into a great big train of logical reasoning and amusingly random thoughts. With Toby satisfying the physical aspects and Blurr, the mental aspects, the two completed each other and were taking this body-sharing situation in stride.

- - - -

"That should do it," Shockwave muttered, adding the last touches.

The machine had been made ready. All he had to do now was plug Blitzwing in one end and the machine between them would recognize the brain signature in Blitzwing that should be in the human and correct the strange mix up. If all worked properly, Macbeth would be taken from Blitzwing's processor and placed into a computer disk, where Blitzwing could do what he wished with the trapped mentality. Shockwave had considered it, but considered one of his new proto-forms too valuable to waste on another human mind. Besides, his miniature proto-forms were out, and he wouldn't trust a human with a full-sized Transformer body, no matter _what_ the conditions.

Thank Primus, too, he was sick and tired of the crazy jokes everyone was cracking behind Blitzwing's back. Most had to do with pets. Speaking of pets, the test subjects, now named Frenzy and Rumble, had taken their transaction to Transformers very well and had already grasped the transforming process, in spite of being Transformers for only two days. Now Frenzy turned into a sound amplifier and Rumble, an electronic drum set, both of which fit perfectly into Soundwave's chest compartment. Speaking of Soundwave, the two now followed him around like puppies. They did anything the Spark Born told them, whether in loyalty, lack of direction, or just to annoy him was undetermined.

Sitting back in his seat, his claws tapped at the keyboard of his computer, preparing to contact Blitzwing and order him to come to the lab. From there, it was a simple case of plug-and-go and Blitzwing could do whatever he wanted with Macbeth afterwards.

"Is that it? The thing that'll get the human out of Blitzwing's head?"

Shockwave turned his head to look at the doorway and saw Blackarachnia there, arms crossed as she stared at the new invention.

"It is," Shockwave replied.

"Humph, pity," Blackarachnia sighed, "I was starting to like that guy. At least it was fun while it lasted…"

She turned to leave, but Shockwave spoke suddenly, "How did the energon raid go?"

"Oh, that? Successful. Blitzwing almost got kidnapped by the Autobots, but he escaped. He's been unusually quiet, though, so rumor has it that something freaky happened."

"Freaky?"

"You know, like you?" Blackarachnia sneered, "I mean freaky as if something that could make even Blitzwing shut up!"

"Hmm, I'll have to see about this," Shockwave noted. "Dismissed."

Blackarachnia stared at Shockwave for a long, hard moment. Finally, she turned and left. When she was gone, Shockwave turned to the computer and contacted Blitzwing.

"Blitzwing," he said. "It is ready. Report to my laboratory immediately."

"_Sorry, Mister Shockwave, but we're a tad bit __busy__ at the moment!"_

Shockwave's energon processing unit hit the floor at hearing Random Blitzwing.

"Why?" he asked curtly.

"_Because I am helping the Starscream clones shoot stuff!"_


	15. Air Show Games

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 15: Air Show Games**

The air show is a noisy place. Sure, most festival happenings are noisy: The game bells, people talking, booth keepers yelling out to sell their wares, the like. But it's only at an air show where one will frequently and automatically look up upon hearing the roar of jets overhead. Set just outside of Detroit, the Detroit Air Base was an enormous paved area with its share of hangars, official buildings, and run ways. Right now, a large set of bleachers had been set up facing north, away from the sun, and the audience there had the honor of looking up and seeing the Air Force showing its stuff off in the air. The people who had seen the Transformers in action, though, couldn't help but feel some sadness in knowing that no matter how advanced or skilled the human Air Force was, it would always be trashed by the Decepticons.

Rick wanted to be anywhere but here. The couple of days after the coffee shop incident, Starscream and him had gotten into an argument over superiority and kept each other up all night. He was tired and the pain in his forehead from Starscream's own scars and from trying to think up of a way to contact the Transformer black market was at a pitch. The fact that he kept switching between seeing himself as part-robot and a human _did not_ help. Oh, and Phineus wasn't helping, either.

"Hiya, Ricky old boy old pal, ready to kick some ass?" Phineus whooped, appearing beside Rick.

Phineus was a smallish man, even smaller than Toby, with wild blond hair flicked up in curls like so many demon horns to match his squinted, ratty eyes and impish grin. As usual, he was dressed in baggy blue jeans, over-sized sneakers, a green shirt with a yellow stripe across it, and a news boy cap with the picture of a duck being stabbed in the back traced on it in tiny rhinestones. There were _so_ many words to describe Phineus Crab, mostly explicative's, but every one could basically be summed up as, mmm… suicidal schizophrenic substance sniffer in desperate need of a straightjacket.

And all of this _without_ crack.

"Why did I agree to this?" Rick groaned.

_Does he happen to have explosive abilities or related to anyone called Red Alert?_ Starscream asked.

Rick ignored him.

"Because you're the best buddy in the whole wide world," Phineus cooed, wrapping an arm around Rick's neck while the other punched his taut chest. "Now throw on this uniform on and get in a plane!"

He threw a folded up uniform into Rick's hands, which Rick used to promptly slap Phineus across the face before shoving it back into his arms. He didn't even bother with shock.

"No. I am going home." Rick stated.

_Hold on!_ Starscream exclaimed, _these jets are primitive, but their parts can be of use for selling, or bribing Lockdown and Swindle. Say yes, say yes, stupid human, stay yes!_

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease?" Phineus begged, giving Rick a surprisingly cute puppy-eye face.

Groaning, Rick sighed and took up the uniform.

"Fine," he sighed, "But you _owe_ me."

"I love you!"

"I'm not gay."

Fifteen minutes and an argument concerning rhinestones and sexual alliances later, Rick was in one of the hangars in a pilot uniform, watching people bustle about as they got the jets ready. Rick looked around at the jets, the people who, unlike him, knew what thy were doing, and the guards with the stun guns ready to stop Grand Theft Auto with the jets, and realized how screwed he was. Suddenly, some of Rick and Phineus' "friends" ran by in boxers and absured costumes, whooping and hollering to distract the guards. Honestly, sometimes Phineus' sense of fun included stupidity and suicide.

"No, forget this," he muttered, turning on his heels and starting to walk out of the hangar. "Screw this, I'm a C-grade crook, I'm not messing with the Air Force! I'll find another way to contact the black market dealers…"

_No! We __need__ to find some spare parts to bargain with!_ Starscream exclaimed, _I __need__ to get out of here!_

A sudden pain like a dagger to the forehead made Rick grunt as rub it as he leaned against a jeep. He tried to move, but his limbs were thick and hot feeling; Starscream was wrestling for control again. Suddenly, one of the flight coordinators appeared at his elbow, grabbing him by his sleeve and pulling him toward an army jet.

"_There_ you are, you dolt!" she exclaimed, "Come on, you're up in fifteen minutes and it takes _twenty_ to circle around!"

"Wait, what--?" Rick began to ask.

"Man, you substitute pilots sure are slow. It's simple: At exactly two o' clock, on the dot, you're going to fly over the audience, do a barrel roll, then come around and spiral up. Then poof! You disappear! Got it? You're just an opener, so _no funny business."_

As the woman instructed Rick, she led him to a jet and forced him up a ladder and into the cock pit of a humming jet.

"I—"Rick began to protest.

"I mean it, mister!" she snarled, "No funny business!"

She smacked a button and dropped down the ladder as the cock pit's glass covering dropped down over Rick. Rick cussed over and over again, looking for a release button as his hands moved and flickered across the control board.

"Slag, slag, slag, slag, so many buttons, so many switches, I'm gonna be one of the prison yard's b—What are my hands doing?"

The hot, angry, peppery feeling was filling his arms and legs, making them slow and stop against his will.

_You__ may not want to be here,_ Starscream snickered, _But __I__ want to give these kiddies a __show__._

"Starscream, no!" Rick exclaimed as his hands took a hold on the control stick and maneuvered the jet out of the hangar and towards the launching runway. "Those are innocent people! We can't hurt them!"

Rick's hands went across the control, flicking switches, pressing buttons, and adjusting knobs. Any attempt Rick made at withdrawing his hands was met with un-success and a mental wall between him and motor control below the shoulder.

_Shut up, you dolt! We're not even __equipped__ for weapons!_ Starscream snarled, _We'll do the flight maneuver, land, ditch the uniform, and find out where they're keeping the spare parts then leave! Alright? So shut your whinny vocal unit up and let's fly this thing!_

Now they were going down the run way, faster and faster until the craft was shaking around them and Rick's stomach was becoming a flattened blanket over his kidneys. Rick groaned and wanted desperately to just take his hands off the control stick, but the familiar prickly feeling was everywhere but his neck and head, holding him immobile in the seat. Suddenly, the jet's nose pointed to the air and the ground started going down as the blue sky filled the windshield. The ride became smoother and the jets' racket even died down some.

"Oh dear god!" Rick yelled, "Seat belt, seat belt, for the love of god, seat belt!"

_Oh find, you big Sparkling,_ Smartmouth huffed, _We'll use your seat belt, even though such things are for sissies._

Rick's knees held the stick firm as his arms maneuvered about to get Rick properly strapped into the seat. It was only when the crossing straps were snuggly wrapped around Rick's shoulders did he calm down enough to trust Starscream to the controls and admire the view.

Living in the city, one tended to forget that there was a green life beyond. Now, this high up, he saw the blocky grey city near by, and green and golden yellow fields below, split into quilt squares by black long black paved roads and country dirt tracks.

"Wow," Rick commented, "Nice view, eh, Screamer?"

_Don't call me Screamer, human,_ Starscream growled, _and personally, I don't like it; too much green for my taste. Ugh, __why__ do we have to circle around so damn far??_

"I dunno, timing, I guess?" Rick suggested. "Err, how are we going to time this? The lady said that it would take twenty minutes to circle around, but we were up in fifteen—"

_Some mere well-planned back tracking is all we need,_ Starscream scoffed. _Honestly, that female wouldn't know a mach 1 jet from a mach 5—and, hey, what is __that__??_

Rick turned his head and looked up to see four jets flying over head, each a different color.

_That's—that's Blitzwing! And my clones!_

"Who?" Rick asked. "Wait—your _what!?"_

_A Decepticon and some of my clones,_ Starscream replied. _I made some clones of myself reflecting my various aspects in an attempt to over throw Megatron that went… poorly. But what are they doing here?_

At that moment, a shower of gun shots came down from the black-tan-dark purple jet and missed their wing by inches.

_Shooting the breeze, of course,_ Starscream sighed. _And it just __had__ to be our breeze they were shooting, of course._

"Tell them to stop shooting! Quick!" Rick exclaimed as another volley of gun fire showered near by.

_And let them see me like __this__?_ Starscream asked, suddenly yanking the jet to the side, _No way! We're loosing them!_

Behind them, Blitzwing was flying with three mechs who bore a strong resemblance to Starscream.

"We shouldn't be doing this, we'll get in trouble!" a purple and black copy of Starscream whimpered "He'll shoot us down, he'll hurt us, he'll—"

"Oh, shut up, Skywarp," the dark blue and grey copy of Starscream snarled, "Can't you see that it's an awesome plan because _I_ thought of it? There's no _way_ we can fail, not with _my_ power and strength! You should be grateful that I'm even letting you fly by me, you sniveling bucket of bent bolts!"

"Ah, put a cleaning rag in it, Thundercracker," a purple and light teal femme version of Starscream snapped, "We're just having some fun, even though _you_ claim that it's gaining us rep in the ranks. It's not like we're gaining anything out of this, anyway."

"We _are_ gaining something out of this, Slipstream: _I_ am ensuring that the pathetic organics know that their place is below _me!" _Thundercracker shouted.

"Can I go home now?" Skywarp squeaked, "I think I sprung another oil leak."

This comment earned Skywarp a punch to the back of the head from Hot Head Blitzwing.

** "Knock it off, you sniveling Sparkling!"** he snarled, **"If you didn't want to come, then you shouldn't have come!"**

He changed back into Cold quickly enough to prevent himself from tumbling to the ground.

"Thundercracker said that the others would beat me up if I didn't fight!" Skywarp wailed.

"And I thought Ramjet was supposed to be the liar," Slipstream muttered. Aloud, she yelled, "Alright, let's get this game started and shoot an organic out of the sky! First one to get him gets a full cube of energon!"

Thus releasing the hounds, Thundercracker, Slipstream, and Blitzwing rocketed forward to chase after Rick/Starscream's stolen jet, oblivious to who flew it. Skywarp muttered incoherently to himself before disappearing in a purple flash, only to reappear by his comrades.

In the jet: "Crap, they're here," Rick groaned.

_Then let's __loose__ them!_ Starscream hollered.

Controlling Rick, Starscream made their jet barrel roll out of the volley of shots the clones and Blitzwing rained on them. The Decepticons corrected themselves, raining volley after volley on the possessed human. Suddenly, Starscream spotted another one of the air show jets flying around. He sped straight for the jet, passing by mere meters over it. The Decepticon flock broke up to avoid hitting the jet and the other human flyer went into a panicked dive, yelling and cussing into his radio that one of the air show's "pilots" was in trouble.

"Damn, no weapons," Starscream muttered with Rick's mouth. "Well, then, let's play a game of Cyber-Chicken."

_Hey, that's __mine__!_ Rick whined.

"Oh, shut up," Starscream hissed.

He banked the jet hard, practically making it flip as he made a sharp turn around to face the Decepticon flock. The two parties charged at each other before the flock realized that he was serious. From the confines of his stolen body, Rick saw the flock break apart, all except a tan, black and purple jet. He saw the jet spin around, unfolding to become a humanoid with a black head and a red jack-o-lantern face. The face grinned wildly at Rick and actually _waved_ before they nearly collided.

At the last possible second, Starscream turned the jet and yanked it to the side, passing with mere feet to spare between them and the opposing jack-o-lantern jet. The other Transformer lost control and became lost to sight as he fell. Starscream, meanwhile, made a U-turn and flew right onto the air show. They accomplished their designated flip-turn, landed, at which point Starscream handed control back over to Rick, who proceeded to hijack a golf cart and runaway, fully intent on beating the crap out of Phineus.


	16. Old Buisness Partners

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 16: Old Business Partners**

"A code 26-7 metal in the Old Detroit Area," Charles muttered, "That can _not_ be good."

_ What does it mean?_ Prowl asked.

Charles rounded a corner on his motorcycle and stopped in the middle of the street.

"It means," Charles answered, "That there's a black market dealer here, and he's a Transformer."

Old Detroit: A part of the city that had long since been abandoned for shinier, newer Detroit and left the old buildings to crumble and grey out in the back of the city. Here, a rare homeless person or criminal rested in the shadows and stray animals hid from the pound catchers, knowing full well that no one really cared about this place any more. Under the three-quarter moon like tonight, it looked more like a scene from an end-of-the-world movie. No cop liked going there, especially at night, and alone, but someone had stirred up trouble at the air show that day and the other cops were busy trying to figure out who it was.

_What are you supposed to do about it?_ Prowl asked.

"Talk to him, come to a civilized agreement by diplomatic means, and make him stop doing what he's doing or go away, hopefully," Charles replied, getting off his bike and turning it off.

_And if he refuses to be diplomatic?_

"Then hope that the Autobots come and save my aft before I get turned into a laser-fried pancake on the pavement," Charles said, drawing his flashlight.

He turned it on and began to sweep it along the rubble of the buildings, not knowing what he was looking for. He saw fast food wrappers, rocks, some forgotten garbage bags and soda bottles lined up on a wall's remains, even a chair and shoe. It was the perfect set up for a horror movie or monster movie attack.

Across the street, to his right, he suddenly heard whirring gears and stomping metal feet as a pair of glowing purple lights appeared high in the shadows. Charles whipped about with a gasp, stumbling back against the rubble as a twenty-some foot robot stepped out of a shadowy alley way. He was purple and golden-tan in color, with a black head and enormous purple optics. His fingers were purple with fingerless, swelled, golden-tan "fingerless gloves", and an arm canon was attached to his right arm. He flashed a wide, cheery grin down at the terrified officer.

"Can I _help_ you, officer?" the robot asked.

His voice was oddly charming and suave, ready to kiss back end as ready as sell it. Coming from anyone else, Charles might have actually been comforted by it.

_Courage, courage, gotta have courage,_ Charles told himself quickly, taking a shaky breath in as he forced himself to steady his shaking flashlight.

"Sir, you have been suspected of trafficking illegal items through this area and, under the conditions and laws of this city, I am requesting on the behalf of the local authorities that you stop or at least move your business out of the city."

"Is that so?" the mech chuckled, "And what will _the authorities_ do if I refuse?"

"We'll put a throwing star in your mouth, you annoying two-faced dealer," Prowl muttered through Charles' mouth.

"What was that?"

"Then I am afraid that we will be made to use force," Charles said officially.

_Prowl--!_ Charles thought.

_I know, I know, _Prowl replied guiltily,_ I'm sorry! But this is Swindle!_

_Wait—what??_

"Oh, what kind of force?" Swindle implored.

"The type that will get you to listen," Charles answered lamely.

Swindle snickered, scratching his cheek, "I'd like to see you _try_."

_Resisting… urge… to… throw… star--_

Charles' hand suddenly snapped up, grabbing a throwing star, and threw it. The silver metal device whistled through the air, curving through it to land right in Swindle's scratching index finger with a small thunk. It didn't hurt, but it stuck and Swindle drew his hand back, looking at the star like it was some alien extension that has just sprouted there. He flexed his hand, making the star fall out, then shot a look down at Charles. Charles laughed nervously and waved.

"God, why did I do that," Charles muttered.

_Why, indeed,_ Prowl agreed.

"Why, indeed," Swindle echoed.

Before Charles could react, Swindle crossed the street and seized Charles up around the waist, lifting him up into the air. The other arm's canon started whistling in charge up as it was aimed at Charles' head.

"I am giving you three seconds to apologize for such rudeness," Swindle stated, "Or give me a bargain for your life, and then I will vaporize you."

Well, Charles was facing certain doom, and, like most humans who find themselves in a fatal position after doing something stupid, Charles opened his mouth and pretty much inserted his foot.

"Wait, I have an Autobot in my head!"

Swindle froze.

"_What?_" he asked then laughed, "Is your little processor over heating? You know, I have _just_ the replacement to fix that kind of thing—"

"I have an Autobot in my head and we need you to get him out," Charles repeated.

As Charles explained to Swindle his predicament, the Transformer black market dealer lowered his arm canon and powered it down. His facial expression turned from confusion to amusement, to surprise, and then to understanding. By the time Charles had finished his tale, his mouth was pursed in thought and one could, literally, hear the gears turning in his head.

"Alright," he said, nodding, "I see; you need me to get Prowl and Starscream's bodies out of special storage on Cybertron, with or without the help of Lockdown. Okay, but what do I get out of it?"

"You—you believe me?" Charles asked.

"I don't need to believe a client to accept the payment," Swindle chuckled, "Just as long as I get some sort of award at the end of it. So, in American dollars, I'd say this job would be worth, oh…"

Let's just say this: It was way too damn expensive.

"Any—any _materialistic substitutes_ work?" Charles squeaked, "Maybe a favor?"

"Hey, Swindle, you were supposed to be back to the ship an hour ago!" a new voice called, "What's the hold up?"

They turned their heads and saw a green and black mech, taller and meaner looking than Swindle, come walking down the street. His face was white with black, jagged stripes lining it, and green patterns cut through his black area while black cut his green areas in simplistic patterns. Spikes poked out of his shoulders and sides, further adding to the bad-boy image. But there were parts on the broad-shouldered mech that did not belong: His lower left leg was red, white, grey and blocky, his left hand was grey and red, smaller than what seemed to match, and his lower right arm was made of an enormous yellow and grey hook.

_Lockdown!_ Prowl gasped.

_You __know__ that guy?_ Charles asked.

_Yes, we were partners, once,_ Prowl replied, almost sadly, _for a short time, and we were almost a long-term team. I think he can help us!_

"Hello, Lockdown," Swindle purred, "But I just caught up with this rather interesting character here. See, he claims to have the famous, and _dead_, Autobot _Prowl_ in his head!"

Lockdown stopped walking and seemed to blink.

"Now that's not even funny," Lockdown growled.

"Eh, anything that pays off," Swindle said with a shrug.

"I'm telling the truth!" Charles exclaimed, "I can prove it!"

From there, Charles rallied off information as Prowl told him it.

"Let's see, uh, Lockdown took Autobot Ratchet's EMP generator and they had to take it back when they first met.

"You collect Transformers' parts as trophies!

"You're a bounty hunter, working for who ever pays the most."

As he talked, Swindle and Lockdown exchanged surprised looks. Lockdown motioned for Swindle to put Charles down and Swindle did so, placing Charles on the exposed second floor of a building.

"You and Prowl worked together to fight the Starscream clones, and Prowl borrowed some of your upgrades—it made a side cart in his alt-form."

He stopped and turned to the side.

"A _side cart?"_ he muttered.

_Their use over came their fashion faux paw, _Prowl coughed.

Charles turned back when Lockdown crouched to be optic-to-eye with the human. Charles felt something in him curl up and cry at realizing exactly how tiny he was compared to the massive, super advanced, sentient transforming robot bounty hunter. He could feel Prowl's cool presence facing Lockdown fearlessly.

"Alright then," Lockdown said, "Here's a question only Prowl and I would know, human. Answer wrong and I'll pierce you through your head with my hook."

He placed his hook-hand beside Charles, letting the cop get a good, long look at the enormous curve of sharp metal.

"What was the name of Prowl's and mine sensei?" Lockdown asked.

_Let __me__ answer this,_ Prowl said.

Charles felt his body go comfortably numb as Prowl swept in and took control, making the terrified body stand tall and sure of it self. He looked right into Lockdown's optics as he replied in his British accented voice so different from Charles' own.

"His name was Sensei Yoketron and you killed him."

Lockdown drew back a little. His face didn't change too much, but something there hinted of disbelief. Swindle glanced at Lockdown with awe and amusement.

"Woha, Lockdown," he chuckled, "Getting a bit dark there, aren't ya?"

"Even though you nearly got me thrown into the Stockades last time we met, I'm glad that you're not really dead," Lockdown said, standing up and offering his hand for him to step into.

Prowl stepped into Lockdown's hand and knelt allowing him self to be carried as Lockdown turned and began walking down the street.

"Swindle and I have been here making a living," Lockdown explained, "Swindle got me out of the Stockades. Now we live in my ship, under cloaking, and he sells guns and other things to the local crooks while I keep an audio receptor out for any good bounties. Oddly enough, there are _a lot _of low-price bounties out for your pal, Bumblebee—"

"Bumblebee doesn't know of this," Prowl interrupted, making Lockdown look down at him. "None of them do; other than Starscream and Blurr, and that's the way I'd like to keep it."

"Don't want them to see you in such a state, eh? That makes sense," Lockdown agreed, nodding, "Don't worry, though: We'll get you back into your body. I have enough respect for you not to just let you die in a human body. No offense to your host."

_None taken._

"He says none taken," Prowl said. "Where are we going?"

"To my ship," Lockdown replied, "We'll need to get you a communicator so we can contact you when we get the bodies. That, and we need to catch up."

_Holy cow, I'm going to sit in on a robot's version of catching up over coffee,_ Charles realized.

Prowl smiled, but said nothing.

_*Even I must admit that was quite some flying back there, human,*_ Cold commented.

_**But don't take us over like that again!**_ Hot Head snarled.

_Oh, please, Random was going to crash us and you know it,_ Macbeth snorted, _though I'll admit this to you: I had no idea what I was doing._

"But you flew like a cuckoo bird! That was very good!" Random Blitzwing commented, being in control of the body at the moment. "That was really, really, really good!"

Macbeth had to admit that when Random was about to crash their body and he had jumped to stop it he was blind with fear of a horrible, fiery death and had no idea how to fly a Transformer body. But much to even his surprise he had flown incredibly well and even managed to launch a few final shots at the human jet that had almost knocked them out of the sky before quickly jumping back to let Cold take back over.

Now they were back at the Decepticon base in the main entrance lobby. None had won the full cube of energon, but they didn't really care. It had been an entertainment flight and nothing serious.

"But not as good as _me_!" Thundercracker boasted. "I could have taken that slimy organic down with my optics off line if _you_ buffoons had not been in the way!"

"Ah, cram it, Thunder, you over-oiled squeaking hinge" Slipstream snarled, "It was all for good fun and all, anyway."

"F-f-f-_fun_??" Skywarp gasped, "T-t-t-that was for f-f-f-_fun_?"

"Yes, Skywarp, fun," Slipstream sneered, "Something _you_ can't grasp because _your_ too busy suckling on your thumb to enjoy it!"

"_BLITZWING!!"_

The clones and Blitzwing all jumped in shock when Blackarachnia's voice screeched across the entrance lobby. Skywarp squealed and teleported away. The other clones looked over with fear at Blackarachnia stalked over to them.

"Um, I have more _important_ things to do," Thundercracker coughed nervously. He took into jet form and flew off and Slipstream followed suit.

Random switched for Cold Blitzwing, who looked at Blackarachnia fearfully and attempted to take a step back, but she seized him by the front of the armor.

"You, me, privacy, _now_!" she snarled.

"Ooh, Blitzwing's in tro_u_ble!" Rumble and Frenzy sang, watching the show.

Whir-click! **"Shut up!"** Blitzwing could only snap back.

Blitzwing didn't even get to protest as Blackarachnia hauled the larger mech through the halls and came to a storage room. She turned into her giant spider alt-form and spat some sticky webbing to the wall before flinging Blitzwing onto it, sticking him there. She reached into a pocket in her armor and pulled out an item that she shoved in Blitzwing's face. It was a metal sculpture of a heart with, "Love ya, sexy spider sweetie!" on it in English.

"Do you think this is funny?" she demanded, "Do you!?"

"I have never seen that before," Cold responded calmly.

"Then how about your _other_ personalities? Or your _house guest_?" Blackarachnia hissed, "Who ever did it, send them out so I can kick their aft! It's freaking _embarrassing_ is what this is!"

Cold glared at the floor, a glare he directed over his shoulder at his other personalities in their mental void. Hot Head turned on Macbeth, looking angry enough to melt rock with a look. Random's mouth and eyes were partially closed in a disapproval look. Macbeth merely shook his head.

"I did _not_ do that," he said. "I was with you the whole time, remember? I don't even know how to make stuff like that!"

"None of _my_ selves or Macbeth did that," Cold Blitzwing rallied off.

"Bull!" Blackarachnia snarled, "Macbeth's into that whole chivalry _slag_, or you're just covering your own aft to avoid admitting that you like me!"

"What?"

"Oh, come on, everyone knows that femmes are in short supply in the army and a guy's only got so many options before he starts contemplating wooing a part-organic femme…"

"I am _not_ that type of mech."

"_This_ personality might not, but what about the other two?"

_**She **_**does**_** have nice legs,**_ Hot Head muttered.

Random and Macbeth gave him shocked looks.

Cold Blitzwing swallowed and opened his mouth to defend himself. At that moment, though, the door opened and they looked over to see Frenzy standing in the door way.

"Hey, baby, you got my present?" Frenzy asked with a grin, "Just breaking the ice. And remember…" He placed his hands behind his head and swayed his hips, "I'm yours any time, any _where_."

Rumble came up behind him and shoved him out of sight, laughing. Frenzy blew a kiss at Blackarachnia before he disappeared. Blackarachnia and Blitzwing exchanged looks. The femme resumed her bipedal mode and rubbed the back of her head nervously. She reached a claw out and cut the webbing binding Blitzwing and looked at the metal sculpture nervously.

"Well, ah, um, uh, I'm just going to go beat his head in with this now, bye."

She ran out of the room, screaming Frenzy's name at the top of her lungs. Terrified screams and excited whoops came from the Minicons as they raced away. Blitzwing shook his head as he plucked the rest of the webbing from his frame.

'_She _does_ have nice legs,_ Macbeth mocked.

_**Oh, shut up, it's true!**_ Hot Head snapped.

_Got a little thing for the femme, eh, Blitzy?_ Macbeth snickered.

"It's _Blitzwing,_" Cold corrected, "And only a minor, shallow thing. I _might_ try something, but only when there are no other femmes in the universe and we're both drunk. Besides, she's more focused on _you_."

_Me?_ Macbeth asked, surprised, _Why me? She hasn't even met me!_

"Mmm, I can tell," Blitzwing responded with a clever smile, "She seemed almost _disappointed_ when she realized that you weren't the culprit."

_An alien woman just might have a crush on me,_ Macbeth muttered, _Weird, but hot._

_You humans really _will_ interface with anything with two legs, won't you?_ Random snickered.

_ And something that don't, _Macbeth agreed, _but I don't go that way._


	17. Natural Beauties and Ghosts

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 17: Natural Beauties and Ghosts**

"So then I was all like hi-ya! Then he was all like, ooh-wah! Then they were all like ooooooooh-YA!! And then I sent them all packing, like, hi-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya!"

Toby karate chopped and kicked the air, making the class of preschoolers stare up at him with wide, awe-struck eyes as he fought imaginary bad guys. In spite of being an adult, Toby, oddly enough, didn't look too out of place in the bright preschooler room, filled with everything from crude crayon drawings to building blocks. He was entertaining the kids while Detective Owl questioned the preschool teacher.

Now Owl bade the teacher good bye and grabbed Toby by the back of his shirt collar as he left.

"Alright, the missing husband hasn't been here, let's go, Toby," Owl stated.

"See ya later, kids!" Toby called, "And remember: Don't run on wet floors!"

The kids called good byes as they all waved the men good bye. A few minutes later, the men were walking down the suburbia sidewalk. Owl went over his notebook with Toby following him.

_I… never knew that one of my war stories could be told to make Sparklings so happy, _Blurr commented.

"Oh, yeah, sure, just take out all the blood and dying and the kiddies will love anything that moves fast," Toby assured.

"Toby," Owl said, "You're talking to yourself again."

"Oh, ah, er, uh, hey, a distraction!" Tony exclaimed, pointing randomly.

Owl actually turned to look before catching himself and turning back. But when he looked back, Toby had snatched his notebook from his hands and was flipping through it.

"Hmm… café, pound, pound, pound, pound, and room 123 of Hotel 9," Toby informed in an odd, slightly high voice.

"What?" Owl asked, caught off guard by the voice change.

"The college girl left her lap top in the café, the two cats, dog, and ten year old are in the pound, and the husband is meeting his mistress in room 123 of Hotel 9," Toby replied in his normal voice, handing back the notebook.

"How do _you_ know?" Owl demanded as Toby passed him going up the street.

"Look at the clues! It's right there in front of you!" Toby replied.

Owl looked at his notebook, reading the notes to confirm Toby's conclusions. He didn't see Toby suddenly shake his head and jump, wresting control back from Blurr.

"Blurr!" he muttered.

_Well I'm __sorry__, but he's been on the same cases all week and four Earth days of last week and it was just frankly getting very ridiculous and I just couldn't bear watching him go around in circles when the evidence was so obvious, so I just __had__ to give him a helping hand, so I did and hey, at least you'll get a big pay check from getting all these cases done at the same time and he can rest up while we go to Dinobot Island and check on how the Constructicons and Dinobots are doing and how the others are working out. By the way, did you hear about the upset at the air show yesterday—_

"Toby!"

Toby stopped short and spun around. Owl was standing behind him, feet apart and fists on his hips.

"Okay, Toby, _what_ is going on?" he demanded. He waved the notebook at him, "You have _never_ been this smart before! The hyperactivity, sculptures, jitters, and now solving cases all on your own; this isn't you! So I want you to answer me and answer me truthfully…"

Toby braced himself for the angry demand for explanation.

"What drugs are you taking, and can I have some?"

"Huh?" Toby asked, tilting his head to the side.

"I—I don't care anymore," Owl groaned, pacing in front of Toby and rubbing his forehead, "I don't care any more if you're taking drugs, but if they're helping to solve cases, then damnit, let me have some!"

"And… you've fallen off the bandwagon," Toby said slowly.

"Toby!!" Owl whined.

"Look, Owl, I'm serious," Toby laughed, brushing past Owl and walking backward to face him, "I'm _not_ taking any drugs. It's just a phase I'm going through, Dr. Phial told me, so just chill out. And for goodness' sake: I'm _not_ taking drugs."

Toby turned around and picked one foot up to step forward. That was when a red, blue and yellow blur plummeted from the sky and passed in front of Owl, taking Toby with him. Owl ducked instinctively when the blur passed and held onto his fedora as he stood back up and watched the blur fly off with Toby on its back. He stared at the sky even after Toby and his carrier were gone for a long time. When he began walking again, he was muttering.

"That was not a robot petrydactol… that was not a robot dinosaur… that was not a robot dinosaur…"

"Swoop!" Toby exclaimed, "What the heck!? It's broad day light and everything, you'll start freaking everyone out!"

Swoop squawked and shook his head. As if to disagree with him, they heard a little boy cry out from below:

"Look, mommy, it's a Jurassic Park birdie!"

"No, Timmy, there is no—_oh dear god, what is that!?"_

Swoop grumbled in embarrassment and flew higher, going above the clouds.

"So, what's the big emergency that you wanted to get me so badly?" Toby asked.

Swoop screeched and suddenly swept to the left, and then the right, making Toby cry out and clutch the giant dinosaur robot's back to keep him self from slipping.

_Well, will you look at that?_ Blurr commented in Toby's head, _It looks like the primitive minded organic-inspired mech likes you and wishes to have a pleasant little flight! I admit, while I was able to go faster than light in my original body and I __have__ been aching speed, this isn't too bad of a substitute, and as an Autobot I've never flown without the assistance of a space craft before. Make him go faster, Toby! Make him go faster!_

"Blurr wants you to go faster," Toby chuckled, "Said he likes the—SPEED!"

The reason for Toby shouting the last word in surprise was that Swoop obeyed Blurr/Toby's wishes and suddenly plunged down, coming back through the clouds to dive down at Lake Erie. Moments before they hit the water Swoop pulled out of his dive and barrel rolled several times, making Toby howl in fear and excitement. The wind rushed past Toby, combing his hair and messing it back up again and yanking his jacket about him. His knees pressed against Swoop while his hands held onto a gap in the armor. Toby had only to loosen his fingers or knees to go flying off into the air, so he held on tight. Adrenaline rushed through him as Swoop came to a peak and dove back down, coming up and down numerous times with twists and flips and making an invisible rollercoaster ride out of the wind currents. Toby whooped and laughed in approval at the play. He could feel Blurr inside, like a ball of fuzz and energy, bouncing and flailing about in equal joy and excitement.

They made their way to Dinobot Island and the meadow where they had last met with the Dinobot and Constructicons. Now the Constructicons were working on a peculiar metal frame work to the side while the other Dinobots watched or spat fire to weld the metal beams together. Dirt Boss sat to the side working on something on his own. Grimlock the T-Rex Dinobot shambled over when Swoop and Toby landed.

"Swoop!" Grimlock snarled, "You let puny human ride you? Is Swoop stupid, or Swoop hit his head on rock?"

Swoop twittered and stroked Toby's head with his beak. Toby laughed when the beak tickled his neck and turned to pat the beak.

"Oh, puny human is Swoop's pet? Okay, that fine!"

Grimlock turned and went back to watching the Constructicons as Toby shot an amused look to Swoop and placed his fists on his hips.

"A pet?" Toby inquired. "I'll have you know that I have an IQ higher than yours _and_ a super robot in my head to back me up!"

_Aww, I wouldn't know about __super__…_ Blurr mental-said bashfully, but Toby could feel the smug pride at the compliment.

Swoop made a sharp chirp and flapped his wings, hopping high in the air and coming down on the other side of Toby.

"Oh, yeah, flying, that… that kind of out does me, doesn't it?" Toby laughed, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"It certainly does," Swoop confirmed in an educated British accent.

Toby's jaw dropped as Swoop waddled off to help the Constructicons. When Toby's mind rebooted, he decided that it was best to just forget what he had just heard and strode over casually to Dirt Boss.

"What're ya working on there?" Toby asked.

"The computer to the thing we're working on," Dirt Boss grunted, glancing at Toby before back at the metal contraption in his hand. "I'm not much of a geek, but I know my way around a processor enough to make sure that it works when the time comes."

He missed with the small zapper tool and dropped the tool and computer piece, yelling and cussing pain as he clutched his fried finger.

"Mind if I help?" Toby asked, picking up the tool, "I got tiny, tiny, tiny, steady hands!"

"Eh, fine," Dirt Boss grunted, "About time one of you no-good humans pulled your weight in work around here. Okay, hold it steady and zap where I tell you. Just squeeze that button there to zap…"

It was Charles' day off and he decided to go to the park with the ends of an old loaf of bread in a plastic baggie, intending to feed the pigeons and ducks. The sun was shining bright, coloring the park in bright greens and turning the sky into a light, perfect blue. Other people were taking advantage of the day by coming to the park to play with their dogs, organic or other wise, picnicking, and generally having a good time. He saw romantic couples, young and old, walking along the paths, on benches, and making out under trees. A mother with her stroller-riding baby would pass by now and then and some kids dashed across the well-trimmed lawns on some mission of entertainment.

There were animals, too: Squirrels, pigeons, ducks, and small song birds, all having gotten used to city life and its people. Without realizing it, Charles found himself stopping in the center of a bridge going over a small pond to watch a couple of robins attending their nest and chicks. He saw the brown feathers with dashes of black fitting together into a mat of a wing, ready to catch the wind that would snatch them up and into the sky. He noted their reptile-like legs, and the sheen of light on their beaks. It was quite fascinating, actually. An alien would see these funny critters and wonder how they could fly without jets or rockets or anti-gravity gear--

Charles shook his head and rubbed it.

_Sorry,_ Prowl apologized, _I tend to do that sometimes._

"Yeah, you sure do," Charles muttered, opening the baggie and drawing out some stale bread crumbs, "It's okay. Truth to tell, a robin with rocket launchers would be quite a sight."

Charles imagined a tiny little robin shooting by at sixty miles an hour with tiny rockets under its wings and felt Prowl's mild, but confused, amusement at the im age. Charles intended to throw the bread crumbs into the lake, but before he could, Prowl stopped him with a request.

_Hold your hand out,_ Prowl said, _The birds will come to you._

"No way, they're scared of humans," Charles replied.

_Just try. Some of these birds used to roost on me when I came here for meditation._

"Got a lot of bird poop on ya much?" Charles snickered, but held his hand still anyway.

Charles thought that he would be standing there like an idiot for a long time, but much to his surprise, the robins flew down from their nest and landed on his arm, eagerly pecking up the crumbs. His hand and arm twitched when the beaks pinched his skin, but the birds didn't take off. When the crumbs were gone, they remained where they were. They moved to Charles' head and shoulders when he moved to get more bread out.

_Curious,_ Prowl said with happy surprise, _they seem to recognize me._

"How do ya like that?" Charles muttered, holding both hands of bread out for the birds. More birds came and he continued to remain still. Passer-by looked in awe at his feat before they moved on.

_I've always found Earthling animal recognition fascinating,_ Prowl said. _They're able to tell when poor weather and disasters are coming, and now seem to be able to sense me, even when I'm… stuck._

Before Charles could add to this, the ground shook, making ripples in the lake, and the birds took to the sky again.

"Come on, Bulkhead!" a young girl's voice exclaimed, "The field's just over there!"

Charles stiffened, in spite of himself, and his hear skipped a beat. He made himself turn his head right, to the source of the voice, and saw a junction of paths just off the bridge. At the junction now was a teenage girl, dark skinned with dark-red hair done up in pony tails and dressed in a yellow and white play dress with tall boots. She was beckoning for a titan of a green and grey mech to follow her. Charles recognized them as Sari Sumdac, the little-seen daughter of Dr. Sumdac, and Autobot Bulkhead.

"I'm hurrying as fast as I can without squishing these fuzz balls," Bulkhead replied. A look of absolute concentration was on his large-chinned face as he tip-toed down the path.

A young-looking robot with small horns, colored yellow with black stripes, appeared from behind the larger mech, striding along with an almost smug air by his comrade.

"They're called _squirrels_, Bulkhead," Bumblebee replied, "Come on! Let's get to playing this Fizz-Bee before the boss-bot gets us on patrol duty or something!"

"It's _Frisbee_, Bumblebee," Sari snickered.

Bulkhead set an elephant-like foot down, making the ground shake again and stopped before glancing over at Charles. Something flickered about in his blue optics. Charles felt his face go red as he stared back at Bulkhead.

'_Prowl,'_ Charles thought, _'do you think…?'_

_That he recognizes me?_ Prowl replied, _I don't think so._

Prowl thought right.

"Yo, Bulky, what's got _your_ optics twitching?" Bumblebee asked.

"Nothing," Bulkhead replied, turning his attention back to his friends. "I just swore that I thought I saw Prowl."

"Yeah," Sari sighed, "He liked coming here a lot, didn't he? Well, come on, we can play over here!"

As the trio left, Charles' legs and hips suddenly spun around and carried him off, bolting off into a wooded part of the park at a fast and quiet pace. When he stopped, he did so abruptly and sat down hard under a tree. For a long moment, neither party spoke. Finally, Prowl spoke with traces of regret in his imaginary voice.

_I suppose… my Spark signal is weak… but still radiating around you…_

"Yeah," Charles panted, looking up to the tree branches where birds gossiped. "Like Grimlock said: His sensors don't know what to make of us."

_I would love to ask my friends for help,_ Prowl sighed, _But with the Decepticons active again, it will be safer for all of us if they don't know. They'll be able to focus more on taking down the Decepticons, and I won't be vulnerable to their attacks._

"Yeah…" Charles agreed helplessly.

There was no interaction. Finally, Charles took out the last of the bread and held it up. A Blue Jay was quick to land in his hand and gobble up the crumbs. Carefully, Charles let himself go limp and sort of stepped away from his mental controls. Not long after, he felt something else take over and went completely mentally lax as Prowl used his body to simply sit and enjoy the feeling of an organic and the beauties of nature.

Ratchet and Optimus were walking through the Autobots' base later that night when they came across the rest of the team in the rec. room. But rather than playing video games, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, and Jazz were gathered around Sari as she red aloud from a book.

"You're off duty and not playing video games or breaking anything," Ratchet noted, "What are you up to?"

"Oh, hi ya, Ratchet!" Sari said, looking over at the old medic. "Bulkhead wants to learn about ghosts—_real_ ghosts—and I'm reading for him."

"Ghosts? There's no such thing!" Ratchet scoffed.

"Why do you want to learn about ghosts, Bulkhead?" Optimus asked.

"I thought I saw Prowl at the park today," Bulkhead said, twiddling his pincers nervously, "And I keep thinking I see Blurr and Starscream walking around town, but miniature-like. Sari said I might just see their ghosts haunting the city and I wanna learn more to make sure I'm not going crazy."

"Seeing tiny Prowl's and Starscream's and Blurr's walking around, honestly!" Ratchet scoffed, "Come on, Bulkhead, let's get your processor checked out—"

"I dunno, Ratchet," Jazz said, "I've seen 'em once or twice myself."

"Yeah! I thought I saw a tiny Prowl coming out a coffee shop yesterday!" Bumblebee chimed in.

"Something's going around," Ratchet muttered.

"Come on, guys," Optimus said, trying to be as gentle as possible, "I know you miss Prowl; we _all_ do. But you just got face the fact that… sometimes, no matter how hard you… wish… they're not…"

He got caught up in the puppy-dog eyes the younger mechs were giving him. He sighed and covered his face with a palm in defeat.

"Come on, Ratchet, I'm sure there's no real harm in learning about ghosts," he said.

"Fine," Ratchet snorted, "But I want you all in my office for check ups when you're done! Pfft, ghosts my rusting back bumper…"

As Ratchet and Optimus left, Sari got back to the book.

"Alright," she began, "The Amityville Horror house was the perfect dream house…"


	18. Split and Alone

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Author's Note:**** Heads up; helmets-off-grossness.**

**Chapter 18: Split and Alone**

The next day, Blitzwing was getting his breakfast energon when Shockwave came up to him.

"Blitzwing," he greeted.

"Why, hello, Shocky!" Random greeted warmly, "Have you found your other optic yet?"

"You _still_ want that organic out of your processor, correct?" Shockwave replied.

Whir-click! **"Yes, and I want to beat him into the ground when he's out!"** Hot Head snarled.

_Harsh,_ Macbeth groaned.

"Then follow me," Shockwave simply ordered.

Blitzwing followed Shockwave to his lab, sometimes skipping as Random, sometimes stalking at Hot Head, and other times merely striding as Cold. At the laboratory, Blitzwing and the watching Macbeth saw that there was a contraption beside the examination table. A helmet was attached to the contraption via a handful of cables tied together. Cold Blitzwing got onto the table at Shockwave's gestured bidding and Shockwave set the helmet on Blitzwing's head.

"This will extract all data of the human conscious in your head and set it into the empty drive into the machine," Shockwave explained. "It will be painful, but the less you struggle, the faster you go."

_Is this safe?_ Macbeth asked. _And where's my body?_

_**What does it matter?**_ Hot Head growled, _**as long as you're out of my head, I don't care!**_

"Is this safe?" Cold asked, adjusting the helmet while Shockwave locked the laboratory door. "And where is the human's body?"

"I'm extracting an alien personality from your processor with a new invention that could very well fry your processor and shred all three of your personalities into crazed tatters, reducing you into a bundle of impulses and twitches. Of course it's not safe," was Shockwave's apathetically true reply as he strapped Blitzwing down by his wrists and ankles to the table. "As for the body: What's left of it is in the Detroit Morgue."

Then he flicked the switch on the contraption.

Pain rushed into Cold Blitzwing's head and he became as rigid as a board, closing his optics as he gritted his teeth tight to suppress a pained shout. Inside, Hot Head lowered his head and placed a hand to it, moaning briefly before hitting the floor. Random swayed on his feet and smiled uneasily.

_Ooh,_ he said unsteadily, slowly spinning around on one heel as he fell, _that… tickles?_

Macbeth watched in surprise as Random fainted and looked around as the mental room began to shake. He could feel Blitzwing's pain distantly, brushing along his skin like rubbing alcohol over a light rash. His non-existent bones felt cold and his muscles were becoming clammy and cramped as a cold sweat broke out, but somehow he knew that this was just feeling an inkling of Blitzwing's true pain. Most of it was coming from his own shock—t he _morgue_? He was _dead_? So where did that leave him, himself?

In the real world, a pained shout suddenly ripped from Cold Blitzwing and his shoulder cannons pointed to the ceiling, blasting it with ice. The ice spread across the ceiling and down the walls, instantly turning it into a winter wonderland. The Transformers' "breath" started seeping out of their hidden exhaust vents as white mist.

"Come on, come on," Shockwave muttered. "Work already…"

_Am I supposed to do something?_ Macbeth said, looking around. _But what am I supposed to do in any case? I mean my __god__… my __body__…_

But other than the pain and the unconscious personalities, nothing changed for Macbeth. He stepped forward, hoping to pull Cold out of the control area and give the aspect the gift of blissfully ignorant sleep. But rather than step onto a hard, invisible floor, as usual, his foot suddenly went down into the floor, like into a blanket spread insecurely over a pit, and fell through, tumbling through blackness and into a dark void all his own…

* * *

Blackarachnia sat on a Transformer-sized oil barrel, arms and legs crossed as she watched the door to Shockwave's lab from down the hall. In time, Shockwave came out, supporting an exhausted Blitzwing with an arm over his shoulder and his own arm wrapped around Blitzwing. From Blitzwing's limp hand, a rectangular, silver computer drive slipped and clattered to the floor. Shockwave partially carried and partially-dragged Blitzwing off to his sleeping quarters, ignorant of the lost drive. When they had gone, Blackarachnia hopped down from her perch and went over to pick up the drive. She turned it over in her hands, then left.

Slipstream was in her own room, sipping energon as she carefully flipped through an Earthling car magazine, using the very tips of her sharpened fingers as delicately as she could. There were two bunk beds, but Slipstream had claimed the entire room, as well as its storage weapons and portable computer, as her own. Any attempts to share or take the room had been met with null cannons to the face and a foot in the aft. Now, there was a knock at her door, causing her to close the magazine and quickly stuff it under some spare wing parts before standing up.

"Who is it?" she snapped.

"It's me, Blackarachnia, let me in!"

Normally, a part-organic was disgusting to Slipstream, but the only other femme on the base resembled a dude and it was worth the feminine company.

"Come in," Slipstream called. "Want some energon?" was her greeting when the organic-Transformer entered.

"No thanks, can I use your computer really quick?" Blackarachnia asked, flashing the computer drive she had picked up.

"Yeah, sure, what's that?"

"Blitzwing dropped it when he and Shockwave came out of Shockwave's lab. Blitzwing looked _beat_, too."

In seconds, the computer was up and running and Blackarachnia had inserted the drive.

"Ooh, sounds naughty!" Slipstream snickered.

"You've been getting into the human gossip magazines, haven't you?" Blackarachnia asked, not taking her optics off the screen.

"Have not!" Slipstream exclaimed.

"Relax: Just as long as you don't get caught and don't call me an organic slur, I won't rat. Alright, here we are…"

Blackarachnia accessed the drive and Slipstream watched from over her shoulder as a black box appeared on screen. Rows of Transformer data coding appeared on the black screen and amongst it, they saw the shadow of a human. He was attractive by human standards, and while neither femme announced it aloud, they wouldn't mind receiving attention from a Transformer with his face.

"Oww, oww, where am I? Blitzwing, where are you?" the human figure called, looking around as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Is that the human that's been stuck in Blitzwing these past few days?" Slipstream asked.

"Guess so," Blackarachnia replied. "He can't hear or see us from there; no input source. I'm gonna have a private chat with him. Wanna join?"

"No, I'll let you two organics enjoy your _date_," Slipstream snickered, drawing out her magazine again.

"Hey, remember what I said about the slurs!" Blackarachnia snarled.

Pulling a cable from a compartment in the computer, Blackarachnia hooked it up to her own head and outwardly, came to sit absolutely still in front of the computer, staring vacantly into nothingness. In the cyber world, she found herself momentarily being lifted up before being set down inside a chamber of Cybertronian data with Macbeth. The two were human sized here, though Blackarachnia was sill taller. Macbeth spun around surprise and even some fear clear on his face at her sudden appearance. He closed his eyes and shook himself a little, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes again to look at Blackarachnia.

_"Arachnia, what the hell is going on here?"_ he demanded.

_"Well, Shockwave did it: He got you out of Blitzwing and now you're mind is in a portable data drive,"_ Blackarachnia responded. _"And don't call me by Arachnia; we're not that close."_

_"Well, now that I'm out, what's going to happen to me?"_ Macbeth asked. _"Shockwave said that my body was __dead__! I don't have anywhere to go! My human body is dead, as well as my life with it…"_

_"Blitzwing dropped you while Shockwave was taking him to his sleeping quarters—the triple changer was __really__ wiped out. Chances are that when he gets strong enough to move again, he'll come looking for the drive and smash it. Or play with it; I don't really have any idea. I just picked the drive up out of curiosity."_

She looked Macbeth up and down. He looked sad at loosing his body, but he was one to quickly adapt. He was forcing himself to accept the fact that he no longer had a life to go back to and all there was to do was to wait for his fate to be sealed.

_"Hmm. Not exactly what I was suspecting… but not bad, either," _Blackarachnia commented.

_"Thank you. You look as lovely in the cyber world as you do in the real world."_

In spite of herself, Blackarachnia smiled amusingly. _"Well, aren't __you__ a flirt?"_

_"Only to those who deserve it, ma'am,"_ Macbeth said with a bow.

_"Hmm. Here's a tip: Stick with your own kind."_

_"I don't really have one anymore; I'm just a program in a disk now."_

Blackarachnia made to disconnect herself from the interface when something caught her audio receptors. She stopped, looking around.

_"What __is__ that?"_ she asked.

"_Music; a tango, to be exact: Violins, with leading trumpets,"_ Macbeth explained, smiling at Blackarachnia, _"I heard it at a posh party I was invited to once. Huh. I wonder why it's playing now?"_

"_Probably because you're thinking of it,"_ Blackarachnia replied. _"Simpler computer drive, more prone to mental whims… Why are you smiling at me?"_

Macbeth chuckled as he offered a hand. _"Care to dance?"_

In the real world, Blackarachnia came out enough to glance at Slipstream. Slipstream was busy chomping on a hunk of scrap metal, staring with glowing optics down at a picture of a helicopter in a military magazine she was reading.

Fully immersing herself in the cyber world again, Blackarachnia took the hand. Macbeth came forward and placed his other hand on her waist. Their dance started with the simple slight rocking from foot to foot and turning. As they talked, their dance became more and more elaborate until they were sweeping about the cyber chamber in a lovely tango.

"_If anyone asks, this never, __ever__ happened,"_ Blackarachnia warned.

"_I know."_

"_Not even in your wildest dreams!"_

"_I know."_

"_I'll put you back in a practice drone body and eat you slowly if you dare tell anyone!"_

"_I __know__,"_ Macbeth insisted, smiling cheerfully up at Blackarachnia. _"Don't worry, I won't embarrass you."_

"_And I'm just curious about this, that's all! It's been a long time sense I've danced with anyone, being part-organic and all, and certainly never met an organic my size, even if it __is__ in a virtual reality…"_

"_Who was the lucky man?"_ Macbeth asked.

"… _An Autobot, back before an accident made me like __this__."_

Blackarachnia was mildly surprised and glad when, rather than press her to tell him how she wound up like this, he went the other direction. The man knew his borders.

"_If being part organic is so bad, then why won't your friends help you?"_

"_Friends? Ha! There are no such things as friends in the Decepticons: Just people who are less likely to shoot you in the back."_

"_Have you ever considered running away from all this war drama? Just living on your own somewhere where there's no one to be cruel to you?"_

Primus, such a style of speaking! He just had a way with words…

"_I kind of did that, once: I got teleported clear to some African island after my __last__ experiment with organic-mech fusion reversion, and, well… let's just say that __the Waspinator__ is here because of me and there is a tribe of severely messed up mammals on a burnt-out island somewhere."_

Macbeth laughed and Blackarachnia's eye brows rose up in surprise.

"_Ah, it's just the way you said that,"_ Macbeth chuckled, _"As if mammals can get messed up any more? That's a good one."_

"_What's so messed up about mammals, other than their sheer mammal-nature?"_

"_Have you ever heard of the platypus?"_

"_No, do tell."_

"_A platypus has the body of a beaver, but the feet and bill of a duck. It's strange, how two completely species are somehow melded into one creature that is so successful in surviving. In any other case, it's impossible, but for the platypus, it's perfect."_

Blackarachnia broke from the dance then.

"_Personal stories, babbling conversation, and hidden meanings in random subjects, all while romantically dancing,"_ Blackarachnia shuddered. _"My Primus, we're having a bonding moment!"_

"_Well,"_ Macbeth sighed, _"At least I'll be more memorable this way, hopefully. I'm sure that once this is over and Blitzwing gets me back, I'm as good as dead, for _real_. I wonder what'll happen when he finally breaks this drive you said I was in. Will I be able to tell the difference between being locked in a computer drive and being dead? Or am I going to be waiting in blackness for eternity, waiting for something to happen? It's going to be lonely…"_

"_You have no idea what lonely is,"_ Blackarachnia grunted.

But somehow, she knew he did: Isolated from comrades because of your organic properties or trapped in side of a computer drive, both she and Macbeth were isolated from others.

A long moment of silence followed. Finally, Blackarachnia forced herself to move.

"_Well, see ya around, human,"_ Blackarachnia said as she drew out of the virtual world.

"_Good bye, Arachnia."_

Slipstream looked up when she heard Blackarachnia move and watched as the spider-femme packed away the computer cables, drew out the storage disk, and shut the computer down.

"So, what did ya do?" the femme clone asked slyly, "Did you get a little naughty with the organic?"

"Shut up already!" Blackarachnia snarled, shooting webbing over Slipstream's mouth.

Slipstream drew back in surprise even as Blackarachnia stormed out of the room, leaving the other femme to wonder what had gotten into the spider-femme, and how to get the webbing off of her face.

* * *

"Here, you dropped this."

Blitzwing had been laying face-down on his bed in his Hot Head personality, sleeping. Now he looked up to see Blackarachnia standing over him, holding Macbeth's computer disk in front of the triple changer's face. Blitzwing glanced at the computer disk and back at the femme before taking it from Blackarachnia, only to toss it over his shoulder apathetically and bury his face in his arms.

"**Go away,"** he groaned.

It was muffled, but Blackarachnia obeyed, glancing a final time at the discarded computer disk before leaving Blitzwing's room.

Inside Blitzwing's head, Cold was leaning against an invisible wall with his ankles crossed and one arm wrapped around his torso while the other hand massaged his head. Random was on his back in sprawled position, repeatedly lifting and dropping his head to bounce the back of it off the floor. All were experiencing the same enormous head ache, worse than high grade energon hangover that they had ever had, including Hot Head, the ultimate boozer.

"**Why is this happening to me?"** Hot Head Blitzwing whined.

_*It could be that our processor is still recovering from the procedure,*_ Cold pointed out.

_Jah, or it _could_ be that we _miss_ the organic!_ Random suggested.

"**What am I on about **_**now**_**?"** Hot Head asked, raising their head.

Random took control and got off the bed, walking over to pick up Macbeth's computer drive and gesturing to it. He gestured to the disk as he spoke with his usual energetic style suggesting that he was about to burst out laughing.

"Think of it," he explained, "There are three us, three faces, but what do we do, when the new guy switches places?"

_*Wait, are you suggesting…?*_ Cold gasped.

_**No way!!**_ Hot Head snarled, _**you think we're getting this head ache because we've got a left over face plate?**_

Cold and Random switched places experimentally and Cold noted, "Mmm, interesting: Our face change takes up to .6 seconds; slower than the usual .4. That means that there is something slowing the face transaction… _another_ face…"

He tossed the computer disk on the bed and went over to the window looking out into space. He took a brief glance at his own cool blue face in the reflection before reaching his hands up and taking off his helmet. Let it be told: There's a reason why most Transformers never take their helmets off.

Under the helmet, the other faces weren't exactly obviously there, but one could see them. There were flattened red and black faces in the smooth metal with their optics and faces closed and facial features rolled up and flattened to fit in the helmet. Cold turned his head this way and that, trying to look at the back of his head. Random jumped in and the head turned about. Cold's face was the one that closed and folded up and flattened down while Random's suddenly opened and popped up as it became the frontward face.

Random Blitzwing jumped and turned around, holding his helmet high over head. At this angle, the polished sheen of the helmet could catch the image of the space image and the reflection in the window. Sure enough, at the back of the head, was a new hidden face.

"Well, will you look at that?" Random laughed, "We got a new friend!"

Cold rudely grabbed Random and yanked him out of the control space, making him the dominant personality of the body once more. He replaced the helmet on his head as he looked down at the computer disk on the bed. He picked up the disk and held it in front of himself, rubbing his chin in thought. Together the Blitzwing's thought about their predicament.

Random thought that it was hilarious and his solution included several references to the _Saw_ franchise.

Hot Head was outraged and frustrated with the idea of being stuck with a mangy organic, even if the organic _did_ know its way around a fight. He wanted to smash the computer disk with Macbeth in it and have "the one-optic pencil pusher", Shockwave, operate and get the damn extra face out.

Cold expressed why he was the leader by calmly thinking through things, occasionally commentated by his other aspects.

On one hand, Macbeth was an organic that had accidentally been somehow absorbed into Blitzwing's mainframe and even adopted his own face on the Transformer. By Decepticon nature alone, it would be humiliating, awkward, and shameful to have an organic-originating alternate personality that was, in truth, an independent conscious. At any time, Macbeth could easily decide that he had had enough of Blitzwing and over throw him, taking over the body all by himself. Plus, having an organic in his processor could influence him to being an organic sympathizer or, Primus-forbid, an _Autobot_.

But on the other hand, Macbeth was… _different_ from other organics. Blitzwing could feel, in a distant way, the human's blood lust, his desire to harm without consequence and his ecstasy at being in control of the body. No matter how one put it, a transforming mechanical body of stronger-than-iron alloy capable of speeding through the skies at speeds exceed the pace of sound would always trump a weak, temporary flesh-and-blood body that constantly required attention and _still_ failed to do half of what the possessor desired.

Macbeth had claimed that he was ready to fight the Autobots for self-defense, but when they were chasing after the air show jet flyer, there was no excuse for the apathy that Macbeth had for the jet fighter's life. In informal terms, Macbeth didn't give a crap about the targeted toy jet or its pilot. Macbeth was strong, fast, smart, adaptable, and did little compromising, as shown with his bullying Blitzwing to treat Blackarachnia with decency. He could hang back, but forced others to do his bidding as he wished, as was the way of the Decepticon. Macbeth was a warrior at heart, and perhaps, just perhaps, there _was_ a reason why he had been inserted into Blitzwing by some twist of fate…

_**That, and he gets the spider-femme to shut her mouth,**_ Hot Head grunted.

A brief suggestion flashed through their splintered, but collected conscious—a thought that wasn't exactly gold or slag, but something that… _worked_.

Blitzwing smiled in amusement and ducked the computer disk into an inner armor pocket before leaving his room to go talk to Shockwave about something.


	19. Preparation

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 19: Preparation**

**Earthling Detroit: Autobot Headquarters**

In their warehouse headquarters, Optimus Prime and Ratchet were working at the computer station on something as Jazz, Bumblebee, Bulkhead and Sari Sumdac played a four-player fight game, having taking a break from ghost studies. Bulkhead was doing poorly, even though he wasn't breaking his over-sized controller for once, due to a specially customized steel case. Sari and Bumblebee were competing heavily for victory, frequently jumping up to stand on the enormous couch, coffee table, or even Bulkhead in the midst of competitive passion. Jazz, the normally enthusiastic blue-white ninja-bot was lacking luster in the fight and even completely zoned out, leaving his character vulnerable to a brutal double-attack by Sari and Bumblebee.

"Wooh!" Bumblebee cheered, dropping his control to double-punch the air.

"Alright, victory!" Sari whooped, striking a Superman pose.

"Aww, no fair, you guys tag teamed me!" Bulkhead pouted. "And Jazz didn't help, either!"

"Hey, Jazz, what's up?" Sari asked, "You've been really out of it for the past few days."

"Hmm? Or, sorry, Sari," Jazz replied, snapping out of his stupor, "I'm still thinking about the Decepticon energon raid a few days ago, when I fought Blitzwing."

"Hey, it's okay if he kicked your butt; Blitzwing does that to _everybody_," Bulkhead assured.

"No, it's not that, I _had_ him, but he switched personalities on me, and, well, I don't know how to say this… but… it was a _different_ face."

Numerous questioning what's came from everyone, instantly interested in the news of Blitzwing with a new personality.

"Yeah, I didn't tell anyone 'cause I thought I just took a hit to the head or something, but I'm as sure as motor oil that Blitzwing had a different face! It had this narrow red visor, with a face covered in dark blue armor, kind of like a ninja mask, but with a triangular pattern in it. I've never seen it before! And, boy, did that guy have _moves_! He got me like I was a student again."

"Blitzwing is dangerous enough with three personalities; a fourth one with real fighting moves could spell disaster in a fight," Optimus said. "We better watch out for him."

"Maybe we can find out more about this personality if we fight Blitzwing?" Sari suggested, "Just a quickie teasie butt-kicky?"

"No way!" Ratchet exclaimed, "Absolutely not! We could barely take Blitzwing on last time we met, and who knows how much craftier he's gotten if he's managed to get out of the Stockades?"

"Ratchet's right; we should really wait for Elite Guard back up," Optimus agreed.

"Aww, but that'll take all the fun out of it!" Sari whined.

"And besides," Bumblebee said, placing his hands on Jazz's shoulders and grinning down at the ninja, "We _already_ have the Elite Guard _right here_."

"Yeah, that's right," Jazz agreed with a grin, "And we don't have to _defeat _him; just draw his new personality out and see what he's like, that's all."

"All those in favor of fighting Blitzwing's fourth personality, raise your hand!" Sari called out.

Sari, Bumblebee, Jazz, and Bulkhead all raised their hands.

"You too, Bulkhead?" Optimus asked.

"I'm tired of playing video games," Bulkhead muttered, "I wanna smash something!"

"Well, alright," Optimus sighed, "But we're going with maximum caution and we _will_ back down at the first sign of serious injury, you got that?"

"Yes!" Sari hissed, pumping the air.

"Alright!" Bumblebee cheered, jumping up and down on the couch and punching the air.

"I'll go oil my spike ball!" Bulkhead said cheerfully, hopping off the couch and lumbering off.

Bumblebee and Sari soon left to go discuss tag team fighting moves in private, leaving Jazz to sit on the couch and muse over the new personality.

A mech like Blitzwing with cyber ninja moves? It just didn't _fit_ somehow, even on someone as odd as Blitzwing . . .

**Cybertron: Autobot Heroes' Memorial Shell Storage**

Sirens were going off _everywhere_ as doors slammed shut and locked and emergency red lights flashed. Autobot guards swarmed the Autobot Heroes' Memorial Shell Storage, trying to find the one body that had been stolen from the stored hundreds of special Autobot heroes. When the Autobots didn't want to simply crush a hero's body or dispose of it, they would keep it in storage here as a sort of memorial. On a hidden side of the enormous museum, there was a forgotten trash pit under a tunnel for, duh, trash.

Ironically enough Swindle and Lockdown slid out of this tunnel and landed in the pit, carrying a large glass tank between them. The tank was currently in emergency mode, having a sheet of metal unsheathed and wrapped around the glass to protect the hidden precious cargo. The tracker on the tank had been disabled and was reduced to a mass of wires.

Swindle plucked a soggy bit of something off his shoulder and tossed it aside, grimacing in distaste.

"Again, remind me why I'm helping you with this?" Swindle asked, "Especially since we're helping an _Autobot_?"

"I can count the number of people I respect in this universe on one hand," Lockdown replied, looking around for any threats, "One of them is Prowl, and one of them is _not_ you."

Lockdown took the handle of one end of the tank in hand while the other turned into a chainsaw, revving and ready for action. Swindle took the other tank end's handle in his hands and helped lift and carry the tank, shooting a look at Lockdown's back.

"Good sales pitch, have you ever considered a life in the black market?" Swindle asked sarcastically.

"Nah, I'm good with bounty hunting. Now come on, and whatever you do, _don't_ drop your end."

He gunned his chainsaw to warn him what could happen and together, the pair trotted off to reach their hidden ship and return to Earth.

**Detroit Police Station**

"Hey, has anyone seen Charles?" Fanzone called out, "I've been meaning to ask him how he did on the 26-7 metal code in the Old Detroit Area."

"Oh, yeah, he came back _late_ that night," James Bananas commented.

"Yeah; he said that he didn't find anything, but I saw a big spaceship of some kind launching into the sky around dawn the next day," Jessie Apples added.

A few years ago, Jessie would have been laughed at, but spaceships, along with alien robots, were just apart of life.

"Really? Huh, maybe he actually got them out of town," Fanzone said, mildly impressed, "So, where _is_ he?"

"He goes to Dinobot Island every day now a-days," James answered. "Everyday he comes in with a backpack of hiking supplies, tells us that he won't be home, and goes off to the bay to go to the island with some friends of his."

"Wait, wait, wait—Dino-_what_??"

"Dinobot Island," Jessie clarified, "You know that island just out on the lake? The one where the Dinobots hang out? Yeah, Charles goes there all the time."

"But why would he go _there_!?" Fanzone exclaimed, "I tried blowing one of those metal Godzilla's with a _bazooka_ and it didn't even twitch! Is he _trying_ to get killed!?"

"Well, hey, after the corner store incident, I doubt that there's anything Charles can't face," James said.

"Including _forty-foot transforming, fire-breathing dinosaur robots!?"_ Fanzone exclaimed.

Jessie and James stared at Fanzone then exchanged looks.

"You know, that sounds like it would make an _awesome_ movie," James noted.

"Totally," Jessie agreed.

"I'm going to go have a chat with Mr. Invincible," Fanzone growled, stalking off.

But, of course, when he got to his car, parked on the street, it wouldn't work. After the third try, the engine coughed sickly and he yelled in frustration, smacking the wheel of the battered vehicle. He got out of the car and kicked the tire, but sat back on his heels with his hands on his hips, glaring down at the car. Overhead, overcast clouds swirled lazily across the sky, warning Detroit that its streak of sunny weather was about to break.

"Alright then," Fanzone muttered, "I'll go _tomorrow_…" He glared at the sky. "Storm or no storm."

Too bad for him his wife would demand him to stay at home tomorrow.

**Detroit: Down Town**

Rick tossed Phineus out of his apartment building. He had just finished smacking the weird guy around as vengeance for the air show mishap, but nothing so serious that Phineus wouldn't come back. Phineus bounced back from these things easily, and proved it now by flashing Rick a clown grin and saluting before getting to his feet and bouncing down the street. Rick narrowed his eyes and shook his head in disappointment.

'_If I didn't need him so much,'_ he thought, going back into the building, _'I would do a whole lot worse.'_

He stepped over some guy sleeping off some booze at the foot of the stairs and went up, passing by graffiti-covered walls as he did.

_I don't see why you make __him__ get the oil you promised the Constructicons,_ Starscream sneered, _You __know__ that they're going to want that._

'_I'm hoping on getting you out of my head, then running like hell,'_ Rick replied, passing by an apartment whose door had been kicked in and going up another floor.

_And leave me with the work? I don't think so, human!_ Starscream hissed.

Rick stopped at a landing, closing his eyes as he rubbed a pin prick in his forehead. Starscream hated organics in life and hated them even in limbo, as he was proving by making Rick's life a living hell. Toby and Charles said that they were doing fine with their Transformers when they talked over the phone; bonding moments and all that romantic comedy crap. Rick and Starscream? Uh-uh, not even so much as a joke. They hated each other, loathed each other, and just wanted to flat out decapitate each other.

"Just another day, just another day, then the annoying voice in my head goes away," Rick sang quietly, continuing on up to his apartment.

_Just another day, just another day, then I get to blow your head away,_ Starscream mocked.

Rick resorted to ignoring Starscream for the rest of the night.

**Decepticon Base**

Blitzwing's suggestion was madness, Shockwave thought, but Blitzwing with a permanent headache would be worse than madness, so he had obediently removed the extra face and placed it in the matter-energy conversion chamber with some spare radioactive metals to zap the proto-form, giving it a unique form. He didn't want someone like Macbeth to take the proto-form, but came up with a catch that satisfied him.

"We'll do this," he told Blitzwing, "but on one condition: Frenzy and Rumble need proper battle training, the clones need something to do before they start killing other mechs, and the Dinobots are formidable enough foes to be a threat to future operations on Earth. I am sending a team of mechs out for battle practices to Dinobot Island with the goal of killing the Dinobots. Soundwave will be leading this party.

"Here is the deal: You may use the proto-form for this inane idea, but _only_ when everyone is in the midst of battle. You, nor no one else, will help Macbeth when he activates; if he survives the battle without help, then he may be allowed to join. If not, then we will execute him. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Cold Blitzwing replied, "Perfectly."

"Alright then," Shockwave nodded, and sighed flicking the switch on the machine, "I don't understand why you are helping him like this, Blitzwing. It is highly out of character for you."

"Let's just say…" Blitzwing paused when some sort of interference temporary ruined his sensory systems. In that brief blackout, he remembered how Macbeth fought, how he pushed others around for his own desires, how he had been so quick to learn to fly, and how he had been so apathetic to other human life.

"Let's just say that he's proven himself."


	20. Calm Before the Storm

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 20: Calm Before the Storm**

Coal, Charles' black cat, sat on the couch and watched as his human owner spoke to someone on the phone.

"Uh huh… yeap… Got that… Just myself, I know…Even _with_ the storm? Ah, I see… Don't worry, I'll be there."

Charles hung up the phone and flopped down on the couch. Coal hopped into his lap and Charles began to pet the cat absent mindedly as he stared at the ceiling.

"Well, Prowl, it looks like you're finally getting your body back," Charles said aloud. "Swindle and Lockdown found your body, got it, and are brining it back to Earth. We're supposed to be at Dinobot Island at noon tomorrow. If everything works like it should, you'll be with your friends again by diner time tomorrow."

_Well, this is __terrific__!_ Prowl replied, finally showing some excitement, _We'll have our own bodies again!_

"Yeah, we will," Charles said, smiling, "No more voices in my head or lack of privacy."

_Oh, please, we promised not to talk about that…_

Charles laughed, and went on, finally screwing up the courage to ask Prowl what he had wanted to ask.

"Hey, Prowl; you get to feel what it's like to be human… What's it like to be a Transformer?"

There was a surprised silence, then, _Well, um, uh, hmm, you know, that's a difficult question to ask. You know, I think I can answer that, but I need your body._

"I'm at your mercy," Charles joked to hide his nervousness, going limp.

Coal, sensing that there were no more pets for him leaped from Charles' lap and trotted off. Charles felt himself be gently pulled from his body and something else take his place. But this time, it was kind of shared, or… something, it was hard to describe. After a moment, he began to feel different:

He started feeling tiny gears turning inside him, working with larger parts to make him work. He felt the energy flowing through him, giving everything the needed jolt to work. What liquid flowed through him was constantly cooling and heating, keeping everything at comfortable temperatures. He could feel his skin harden and become numb to external forces. Things like temperature, humidity, texture, and weight became distant. He could feel the chinks in the armor and the joints in the parts, ready to spread out and disengage at a moment's notice in order to assume a new form. He could even feel how, if he lost a body part, the pain would be brief and unimportant; he could always get a new part.

"Wow…" Charles whispered.

_Yes; it is not existence as humans know it, but it is a familiar feeling, none the less._

The foreign feelings drained out of Charles gradually as he sat up, feeling Prowl's sadness.

"Hey, don't worry," Charles said, "It'll work, you'll see. And when it does, you get to see the looks on your friends' faces when they see their friend return from the dead, it'll be great, I promise you!"

_It's not that: I'm just going to miss being human._

This caught Charles by surprise.

"Woha, really?" Charles asked.

_Yes,_ Prowl answered,_ You feel things at such a personal level compared to Transformers. We Transformers may have iron hides that keep us protected and let's us live for eons beyond organics, but it also numbs us from nature and all its aspects. This past week has been one I'll remember for the rest of my life, and hopefully, that will be a long time this time around._

Chares though back over the past week: The crimes he had stopped with Prowl acting as his guiding voice in the back of his head and borrowing martial art skills. The days in the park where he had done as Prowl said and managed to coax squirrels and birds from the trees and into his hand. In all that time, there had been underlying feeling of curiosity, amazement, and fascination from Prowl. Prowl had never gotten the chance to be a real human, and now it looked like that time was coming to a close. Like Pinocchio in reverse.

_You really think that it will work?_ Prowl asked.

"I _know_ it will," Charles said, "Hey, the Constructicons are supposed to be geniuses, right?"

_Well, they're only __construction__ workers, but, I suppose that a little hope can't hurt, can it?_

"No, it can't," Charles agreed with a smile.

* * *

In Toby and Owl's apartment, Toby had plugged in the tread mill and was running at full-tilt on the machine while Owl sat on the couch and watched TV by him. Toby looked over and noticed that Owl was drinking.

"Wow, what's with the alcohol, did a girl dump ya or something or did someone die?" Toby asked rapidly.

"I'm taking it, because I keep seeing you ride a robot dinosaur like freaking Tarzan or the A Team or _something_," Owl said, speaking with a thick slur. "That, and you're—you're like the mother flipping _Energizer_ bunny or _something_…" He paused to take another gulp of alcohol from the bottle.

_I've seen enough human activity to know that this is not normal and will assume that Detective Owl is drinking himself into a stupor because he is unable to cope with "your" increasingly sporadic and out-of-the-ordinary behavior, above-average speed and stamina, and other peculiarities,_ Blurr commented.

"Right and right again, Blurr, old buddy," Toby muttered, trying to keep Owl from hearing him, "But hopefully, after tomorrow, we'll go back to being normal and he'll get off the booze."

_Well, should anything go wrong tomorrow or we are finally separated into our appropriate bodies, I'll take the free time now to tell you that it was an honor sharing a body with you. You've been very polite and patient with things and I appreciate your lack of attempts at blowing me out of your head or checking yourself into a mental institution and must say that, while I hope not to have any repeats of this situation, you have been one of the best possible candidates for an interspecies body-sharing relationship._

Owl snorted before falling over on the couch. He began snoring and Toby was allowed to speak freely.

"Thanks, you haven't been so bad yourself," Toby replied with a smile, "I mean, with all this extra running and thinking you got me doing, I'm certainly a couple levels healthier than before. Hopefully, I won't loose too much of it when we're split."

_Well, with proper diet and exercise—_

"Oh no, stop!" Toby laughed, "Before you start sounding like a medicine commercial!"

Both chuckled at the joke.

* * *

While the others were having warm good byes with their body-sharing partners, Rick and Starscream were having an _extremely_ rough time, stopping short of Rick doing self-harming. If Rick's apartment building wasn't inhabited with druggies, someone might have called the cops about his personality troubles.

"Starscream, for the love of god, _stop_ this!" Rick shouted.

_It's not __my__ fault if __your__ body recognizes my superior looks and wants to see itself as me, in a most __pathetic__ way, I might add,_ Starscream sneered.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Rick was seeing a complete Starscream instead of his human self.

"Bull shit!" Rick yelled, "You may be good, but not _that_ good! This is all because of you! If _you_ hadn't landed in _my_ body, then _I_ wouldn't be stuck hallucinating myself as some _pansy robot_!"

_My Transformer shell is far superior to yours, organic!_

"You look like you swallowed a brick!!"

_You__ look like something an asteroid monster vomited up!_

"_You_ look like you could slag yourself with your chin!"

Starscream struck out, making an enormous pain sprout in Rick's stomach and a dagger of ice pierce his forehead. Rick gripped his torso and hit the floor on his knees, leaning over as he gasped in pain. He could feel invisible claws scratching at his back and pounding at his head. It had been like this for the past few days: Rather than get used to each other, Starscream and Rick had hated each other more and more until they were constantly arguing and had even done some physical body-sharing wrestling, explaining the bruises and band-aid-covered cuts on Rick. Rick just needed bandages on his wrists and he would start looking like an anime fighter. If they were together for two more days, they were going to kill each other.

_Listen here, __Rick__,_ Starscream sneered, _We may share the same body, and we just __might__ be separating tomorrow, but __don't__ think that that means that I'm above __tearing you apart__ in our last few hours together!_

Rick felt Starscream reaching into his limbs, ready to take over. Rick clutched the floor and made him self rigid.

"No, Starscream, not now," Rick snarled, "This is _my_ body so we go on _my_ rules and do what _I_ say, so slag off!"

Starscream tried to take control a few more times, but, with a mute grunt of distaste, swept away and retreated into the corners of Rick's mind. Rick looked up at the mirror and smiled when he saw his human self there.

"One more night…" he whispered.

* * *

Thundercracker came to Blitzwing that night with Skywarp in tow.

"You, triple-freak underling!" Thundercracker snapped.

Hot Head Blitzwing punched him in the face, but Thundercracker continued, although with a little more respect.

"Right, _Blitzwing_," he corrected himself, "I have thought of a most clever and wonderful scheme, such at the likes that only _I_ can imagine, to accomplish–"

"I already know of the raid, and I am going on it, too," Blitzwing replied.

"_What_!? Who dared over step their boundaries and invite, _without_ my permission, a schizo!?"

Blitzwing punched him in the face.

"Shockwave," Cold Blitzwing replied coolly, "I will be joining for my own personal reasons. Who else is going?"

"Pfft, I'm not telling _you_!" Thundercracker sneered, crossing his arms.

Blitzwing punched Thundercracker clear out of the room and grabbed Skywarp by a wing with one hand while the other lifted up in a fist. Skywarp squealed and teleported just out of Blitzwing's grasp with a purple flash.

"L-Lugnut, Blackarachnia, m-me, Thundercracker, S-S-Slipstream, S-Soundwave, Frenzy, and R-R-R-R-R-Rumble, oh dear Primus, don't kill me!"

"That's an awful lot of mechs for a trio of Spark Born idiots," Blitzwing commented.

"Well, ah, er, um, they're rumored to b-b-be _exceptionally_ strong," Skywarp whimpered, "Like, uh, bazooka-resistant…"

"Plus," Thundercracker grunted, limping back into the room with a claw over one cracked optic, "We just might take out the deserter Constructicons while we're at it."

"Whatever works," Blitzwing said, drawing a computer disk from a storage compartment and looking at it, "What ever works…"

* * *

"Hmm, that look like nasty storm," Grimlock said, looking to the sky, "Me Grimlock _smell_ it. Storm may be too much bad for puny little humans to get to Dinobot Island."

"Nah, the sooner we get this done, the better," Scrapper said, pushing up on the edge of his helmet as he looked skyward. "Besides, with a quick lightening pole attachment, we can actually harness the lightning and power the machine with less oil."

"If it doesn't waste oil, it's a good idea to me!" Mixmaster supported, "Come on, let's go get ourselves just a little more metal. You know, I'm actually kind of excited to see how this turns out…"

"Just as long as we get the job done," the Dirt Boss grunted, "I'm not gonna let failure spoil my record!"

Grimlock watched the Constructicons stomp off and turned his massive metal T-Rex head to the sky again. A concerned rumble turned over deep in his chest. He may be a machine, but he still had the animal extinct to sense a bad storm coming.


	21. Restore in the Storm

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 21: Restore in the Storm**

Grimlock's prediction was true. The rain began at five the next morning, and by seven, the streets of Detroit were abandoned while everyone hid indoors from the torrent of rain. Even Jazz, who had famously thought rain as Earth's "free car wash", didn't want to take a drive with the rain turning the streets into streams. Sari and Bumblebee enjoyed a brief session of slip-n'-slide before the lightening and thunder became too violent for their care.

Toby glanced out at the rain nervously and called the other two members of his party.

"Hey, are we still on for today?" he asked, "Because, you know, it's raining _like the end of the world outside_ and neither Blurr nor me wanna die and sink into a wet, watery grave, but I think I don't need to say 'wet' because that comes with watery—"

"Yeah, we're going," Rick interrupted from his end of the call. He was applying a bandage to a fresh cut on the side of his head, courtesy of temporary motor control loss during a fight with Starscream the night before. "If I have to spend one more _day_ with this egomaniac in my head, I'm going to blow my own head off, _with him in it!"_

He hissed sharply in pain at the headache Starscream gave him.

"I can see the lake from my apartment," Charles reported, "The waves are rough, but if we move fast, we can go before the storm gets worse. Bring your waterproof boots; we're going to get wet."

Charles hung up to escape complaints from the lame line. Prowl spoke in his head, radiating concern and even a rare cent of nervousness.

_Charles, I can wait one more day, really, _Prowl assured, _it's of no consequence; the Constructicons' machine will be there tomorrow._

"No, we have to go _now_," Charles said, slipping into a fisherman's yellow rubber coat, "The bay will be clogged with wrecked ships tomorrow, and then who _knows_ how soon until we get to Dinobot Island? Don't worry, Prowl. Humans have experience with storms; we can get through it."

_Well, it's your body,_ Prowl said reluctantly, _But please, be careful. I don't want you harming yourself for my sake._

"Hey, you _died_ for _my_ city," Charles chuckled at the irony as he fasted on his knee-high rubber boots. "I think that it's only fair that I take the same risk."

* * *

"It's too rough! We're going to get hit by lightning! Shockwave's gonna be mad! It's dark and scary, can we go back now?" Skywarp ranted.

"Shut up!" the raid members snarled.

Lugnut was carrying Soundwave, his Minicons, and Blackarachnia in his hull while Blitzwing and the clones flew about outside in the raging rain and wind.

"Sorry, sorry, I'll shut up now, sorry," Skywarp squeaked.

"Personally, I agree with this raid with all my Spark," Lugnut announced, "This way, we may root out the weak and the glorious Lord Megatron may inherit only warriors worthy of basking in his glow—"

"_Shut up!"_ everyone shouted.

"_My_ glow is the one everyone is supposed to bask in!" Thundercracker snarled.

"Ah, can it, Thunder," Slipstream snarled, slamming into Thundercracker's side.

"Warning: Cease fighting," Soundwave ordered, "Or I will rip your Spark chamber out."

"A little extreme there, aren't ya, 'wave?" Blackarachnia asked.

"Nah; he's just that epic!" Rumble replied.

"Hey, what's under the blanket over there, any way?" Blackarachnia asked, looking over to a bundle at the far end of Lugnut's storage area.

"Look under there and I will rip your Spark chamber out and _eat it_," Blitzwing warned.

"Scaaaaaary…" Frenzy sang, but was cut off as Lugnut jostled about in the rain as they flew deeper into the storm, towards Dinobot Island.

* * *

Toby came in an overcoat he had "borrowed" from Owl (who was still unconscious from the booze). Rick didn't have rain gear, so came in his usual shoes, jeans, and hoodless jacket, looking for the world like an unhappy wet dog. They got into their speed boat and headed off, clinging for dear life to the edges of the boat as they traversed the bucking waves to get to the island. Halfway there, Toby was struggling to keep the boat from capsizing and Rick was beginning to question whether dealing with Starscream was as bad as drowning.

_Come on, tell the speedster to steer this pathetic floating capsule better, you incompetent human!_ Starscream snapped.

"He's _trying_," Rick growled through gritted teeth, "But it's harder than it looks, so shut up!"

"Starscream again?" Charles called over the sounds of the storm.

"Yeah, the creep thinks that _he_ can maneuver this thing better!" Rick called back.

"That would actually pretty difficult." Toby jumped in, "Considering that there is no liquid body on Cybertron, so Transformers not only have no aquatic modes, but we have very limited knowledge on the life style on water and—"

"Oh, Spark, look out!" Charles yelled, pointing up.

Appearing with all the drama and suddenness of a boss in a video game, a massive wave suddenly reared up over the humans and their puny, puny boat. Once it came down, those poor suckers were doomed and their guest personalities would be doomed… again. While Charles and Toby reacted with fear, Rick simply drooped in annoyance.

"Oh, come _on!!_" he yelled.

Lightening and thunder cracked over head, covering another noise, and the enormous wave came crashing down, destroying the boat. Splinters and boards floated while the engine bubbled and sank. If one looked for the trio of possessed humans on the sea, they could assume fatality.

If one were to look to the skies, though, they would see Swoop in Pteranodon form gliding and hopping on the winds with Toby on his back and Charles and Rick in his claws. Rick dangled by a leg while Charles got a nice, cozy grip about the waist.

"Swoop, you're my hero!" Toby laughed.

"Put me down!!" Rick screamed.

Swoop twittered happily, ignoring Rick, and continued through the storm. In moments, he had come upon Dinobot Island and was landing in the destined meadow. The Constructicons' personality-splitting machine was simple: one human-sized glass tube connected to one Transformer-sized glass tube with a cable-wrapped metal bar in between them with a control panel attached to the middle. A tall lightening pole had been attached to the top of the human tank. Every time lightening struck the pole, a meter going from red to green on the control panel was grow a little more to green.

The Dinobots stood in the shadows of the forest, watching curiously. The Constructicons were positions around the machine, ready to act. Swindle and Lockdown were also there, standing beside a Transformer-sized, metal-glass tube of some sort, and Swindle carried something in a giant cloth bag.

"Ah, I _knew_ that the little grubs would be too dumb to cross the water on their own," Dirt Boss grunted. "Anyway, who goes first? The machine's charged for one go, and part-lightening charged for another. I like getting my projects done, so let's go!"

Rick jerked and grunted, before suddenly standing up with his fists clenched and chest bared. Anyone who had seen Starscream in his real body could recognize that pose.

"_I'll_ go first!" Starscream snarled with Rick's body.

_Charles, may I say something?_ Prowl asked.

_Go ahead—_Charles began.

As quick as shadows, Prowl took over Charles' body and growled, "I think _not_, Starscream. Primus _knows_ that you'll just blast the machine and take off for yourself."

To the Transformers, the humans' forms shivered and shifted, disappearing in masses of colored smoke before reappearing as their possessing mechs in miniature. The Transformer audience raised their eye brows and exchanged surprised looks. Before, things were an interesting dilemma. Now, they were an almost surreal situation that they were finally fully grasping.

"I can destroy you in my Transformer body and I can destroy you _now,_ ninja-bot!" Starscream snapped, shaking a fist at Prowl.

"I'll go first!" Toby yelled, his hand shooting into the air like an eager school boy.

"Alright, let's do it," Mixmaster said.

Mixmaster carefully scooped Toby up in his massive metal hands and went over to the machine, ignoring the enraged look Starscream was giving him in the back. Mixmaster unscrewed the top of the human tank and dropped Toby into it. Seeing Toby going first, Swindle reached into his bag and went over to the Transformer sized tank. From the bag, he pulled a light blue cube with a spike on it, being the sized of a crushed car. He opened a door on the side of the tank (why there was a cap for the human tank and door for the Transformers' was left unclear) and set the cube on the floor of the tank before shutting it.

Toby glanced over at the cube and suddenly emitted a dismayed cry of shock before launching off into a rushed sentence incomprehensible to the others.

"Oooh," Starscream moaned sympathetically, "That's nasty."

Charles felt the discomfort and sympathy rolling out of Prowl and somehow realized that that crushed cube was Blurr's _body_. How it got to be in such a desecrated state, he did not wish to know.

"Remember kid; you gotta _breathe_ for the next three minutes," Dirt Boss called, pressing buttons on the control board.

Lightening struck the pole as the machine began to glow from within, lighting the tanks up like turquoise neon lights. Toby gasped and looked around, apparently feeling _something_. In the Transformer tank, the crushed cube of metal began to spark as small strings of energy crawled through the air between the cube and floor. The cube began to levitate as the machine hummed louder and the tanks glowed. Soon, all eyes and optics were on the Transformer tank.

Blurr's cube began to tremble and shake, hopping across the floor of the tank. Suddenly, the cube jumped up and hovered in the air, slowly gaining altitude as bits and tweaks of metal popped out of the cube, unfolding and unfurling like an otherworldly flower. Another lightening bolt hit the tower and suddenly, all at once, there was a flash from with in the tank. The on-lookers jumped in surprise when a great snap came from with in the tank, accompanied by screeching metal and sheets of alloy clapping against each other.

As suddenly as it began, it stopped and the machine lost its glow as it quieted down. Toby was on his hands and knees, panting and pale, in his tank. In the Transformer tank, shaking off the last wisps of trash metal was a slim blue robot with large shoulder joints with a horn on his head. Looking at him, anyone could see that he was a sprinter, bred and built for speed.

He shook himself off and looked down at himself, first blankly before a grin crossed his blue face. He raised his fists high over his head in triumph and, thankfully, kept his happy speech short.

"I'm back!!" he whooped.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you _owe_ us," Lockdown growled, opening the door for Blurr to come out, "We had to shift through the trash for _four hours_ looking for your 'body'. Someone had thrown it in with the trash."

Blurr made a whiney "waa" noise, but broke off to go retrieve Toby from his tank. Toby looked up at Blurr, squinted against the rain, and widened his eyes when he finally got a good look.

"B-_Blurr_!?" he exclaimed.

"Special Elite Guard Agent Blurr of the Cybertron Autobot Army, at your service!" Blurr said, saluting as he grinned down on the human. "And I thank you from the bottom of my Spark for saving my poor little doomed body, because if you hadn't been there, then my body would be left as a stacking block of metal for all eternity and—"

"Outa the way, we're working here!" Dirt Boss yelled, swatting the Autobot and human out of the way.

Dirt Boss stalked over to Prowl/Charles and Starscream/Rick as Blurr zipped over to stand by the Dinobots and continue talking with Toby there. Swoop leaned over to pet Toby's head with his beak. Blurr was still chattering at an incoherent pace with Toby as he lifted up one of Swoop's wings to make a roof against the rain. Swoop gave him a look. Dirt Boss towered over Charles/Prowl and Rick/Starscream with his fists on his hips.

"Alright," he grunted. "So, are you two going to fight to the death again or am I going to just go eenie-miney-moe and pick one of you?"

"Fighting to the death can be arranged," Starscream snickered, facing Prowl.

"Oh _please_," Prowl said, rolling his eyes.

It was at this moment that laser fire fell through the air and vaporized a tree branch mere feet from Grimlock. The Dinobots set up a fuss as a flock of jets swooped in from the storm clouds over head and transformed.

"Well, well, well," Slipstream, "Look at who's having a party _without _us?"

"Aw, come on, what _now_?" Dirt Boss groaned.

"A Decepticon raid, led by my glorious self," Thundercracker boasted, "With intent to wipe out Autobot opposition and _Decepticon deserters_: _That_ is what!"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that," Scrapper muttered.

"Me Grimlock no like intruders!" Grimlock roared, "Dinobots _destroy!"_

In response to his challenge, Lugnut landed in his cargo plane alt-form, sliding in the wet ground and digging up a massive ditch. From his back leaped Soundwave, Frenzy and Rumble and Blackarachnia. He kicked out a large bundle before transforming into humanoid form. The Decepticon raid had arrived.

"Crap, this isn't good," Toby muttered.

"These guys don't stand a chance against this many Decepticons, come on, we'll go get the Autobots for back up!" Blurr exclaimed.

Speaking that at a barely understandable speed, Blurr transformed into a sleek sports-car mode with Toby in side and took off in his name sake.

Soundwave tossed out Laserbeak and Swoop screeched as he took to the sky, directly attacking the bird. Snarl the Triceratops charged forward, tackling Soundwave, and was immediately attacked by Rumble and Frenzy. Grimlock jumped up and bit down on Thundercracker's wing, pulling the terrified Decepticon out of the sky in order to shake him like a rag toy. Skywarp squealed and teleported away, only to come face-to-face with Snarl on the ground. The Triceratops snarled and tackled the clone in a wrestling match, taking on Soundwave's squad at the same time. Slipstream and Blitzwing began circling around, shooting at the Dinobots while Swindle and Lockdown hid to the side in the shadows, not wishing to interfere.

"Me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me!" Starscream exclaimed, "Let me go next, I can talk them out of vaporizing us!"

"Okay, brace yourself," Scrapper said.

Unceremoniously the Constructicon picked the Transformer-possessed human up like a doll and dumped him into the human tank before dashing into hiding among the trees. Swindle reached into his bag and pulled out a cube of crushed red and grey metal and darted out of hiding long enough to stick the cube into the Transformer tank. Starscream/Rick looked over at the cube and emitted a shockingly girly scream.

"Ah, can it, it could be worse," Dirt Boss grunted, smacking the activate button.

_I hope it will have enough juice for __us__,_ Charles thought.

"I hope so, too, Charles," Prowl whispered back.

This time, instead of glowing turquoise, the tanks began to glow a vibrant, bloody red. Slipstream paused in her circling of the meadow to look over at the tanks that she had, up to this moment, ignored.

"What in the universe is _that_?" she asked quietly.

"**Who cares? It's not important."** Hot Head Blitzwing snarled, slamming a shoulder into Slipstream's back and knocking her aside, **"Get out of my way!"**

Slipstream squealed in pain before crashing to the ground at Grimlock's feet. Grimlock spat Thundercracker out and turned his attention to stomping over Slipstream. Before he could attack, Blackarachnia appeared and kicked up at him, knocking him away.

"Thanks!" Slipstream called out over the racket of the storm and battle.

"Your welcome. Hey, Grimlock! It's me, spider lady!"

"He can't see well at night!" Scrapper called over.

"Slag," Blackarachnia commented.

She transformed into her spider mode just fast enough to keep Grimlock from biting her head off.

Hot Head Blitzwing, mean while, dropped through the air to crash into Scrapper just as he turned to look up from his hiding spot. He was sent rolling heels-over-head away from the woods and into the meadow. He came up in a kneeling position, gritting his teeth in a growl as one of his hands turned into a drill.

"So, you wanna play _rough_, eh?" Scrapper snarled.

Scrapper launched to his feet and attacked the triple-changer, ducking jets of flame that were aimed at him.

"Scrap!" Mixmaster yelled, running to go help his friend.

"Oh, sure, leave _me_ with all the work, why don't ya!?" Dirt Boss yelled over at them. "Ya useless bums!"

At the moment, the red light reached a fever pitch and flashed. Rick screamed momentarily in pain before collapsing to the floor of his tank. Over in the Transformer tank, Starscream's cubed body suddenly exploded outward, like a star going super nova. When the flash ceased, a Transformer burst through the roof of the tank with his jet wings spread, his engines roaring, and an over-polished smile crossing his ridiculously over-sized-chinned face. Below him, the top of the glass tank shattered, leaving a broken-topped capsule.

Attracted by the flash, everyone paused in their fighting to turn and stare. The Decepticons' faces dropped in complete shock and disbelief. Swoop fell through the air and crashed into the woods near by, miraculously defeated by Skywarp. Skywarp fluttered about nervously overhead.

"_Starscream!?"_ Thundercracker yelled, "What the _Spark_ is going on here!?"

"Oh, my, my, my, my, this is surely not good!" Skywarp whimpered, "Things are getting bad indeed if Starscream's back!"

"How is he _alive_?" Slipstream whispered.

Starscream smirked, amused at everyone's surprised reactions. It _almost_ made his imprisonment in the organic alright. He looked down at Rick. The human and enormous Transformer stared at each other, unsure of what to say. Finally, Starscream smirked and gave Rick a mocking salute.

"I thank you, flesh creature, for your aide in returning me to my rightful form. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and claim my rightful place as the leader of the Decep—"

Lightening struck Starscream.

Multiple times.

In the head.

The lightening went straight through Starscream and down into the lightening rod of the now-broken body transfer machine, charging it up. When it was over, Starscream's engines spluttered, but he shook his head and rubbed it.

"Note to self: do not make speeches in thunderstorms," he muttered. Aloud, he yelled, "Clones, follow me, your new leader!"

"_I'm_ the leader now—"Thundercracker began.

Starscream's shot was inches from blowing off Thundercracker's head.

"…Okay, we go now…" Thundercracker squeaked.

"Alright, I assume we're still on the moon base?" Starscream demanded.

"Yeah," Thundercracker muttered, pouting over loosing leadership.

"Then let's go!" Starscream yelled, rocketing off into the sky.

In spite of him being a jerk, on lookers had to admit that the stream of light and flame he left in his wake was impressive: A solid beam of white light rushing from his rockets and lighting up the night-like storm around him, paving a path into the clouds as he flew off.

"_This_ I _gotta_ see," Slipstream snickered, flying after Starscream.

Thundercracker and Skywarp followed right after.

"Order: Come back!" Soundwave called out, but the clones and Starscream were already gone.

The people left were Soundwave, Rumble, Frenzy, Lugnut, Blackarachnia, and Blitzwing against Grimlock, Snarl, Swoop, Scrapper, and Mixmaster. Laserbeak retreated to Soundwave after being seriously injured.

Swindle and Lockdown betted on who would survive and the battle raged on, ignoring the machine in the clearing. They were just here to kill Dinobots, not tinker with Marine World reject tanks.

"Slag it!" the Dirt Boss yelled, "The stupid jet broke the damn tank! _Now_ how are we supposed to finish this thing?"

"Can we plug Prowl's coffin into the machine?" Lockdown asked, calling out over the storm.

"Coffin--!?" Charles exclaimed with his own mouth, looking over to the glass-and-metal tube between Swindle and Lockdown.

_The Transformer equivalent of it, at least, _Prowl replied.

"Holy crap… Lockdown's a freaking grave robber…"

_I admit that it __is__ unusual, but I am grateful for his help, whatever the reasons are._

"I think so," Dirt Boss grunted, "Maybe we can just attach the old tank cap onto it to complete and it just might work. You and Swindle plug the thing in, I'll look for the cap! Hamster guy, you sit tight and don't get squished!"

To encourage Charles, Grimlock was tossed onto his back, landing mere feet from Charles. He skidded backwards on his front, leaving ditches in the dirt. Grimlock got to his feet and for once, assumed his humanoid form. He braced himself as a football player would, then roar as he charged Lugnut again.

Charles scrambled away from the fighting steel titans and came up against the human tank. Looking in, Charles saw that Rick was still on his knees and weak.

"I gotta get him out of there…" Charles muttered.

Then, like the corner store fight, Charles drew knowledge from the foreign mind with in and knew how to get into the tank. He took a few steps back then charged at the tank, running full speed. He ran up the tank a few feet, launched off of it and onto the metal beam connecting the tanks, and from there hopped on top of the tank. He ducked when Swoop and Blitzwing flew by over head before he easily pulled the lid off and reached in, offering a hand to Rick. Rick shot an annoyed look at the hand, but grudgingly accepted it. Charles hauled Rick out of the tank just as Dirt Boss, Swindle, and Lockdown had the other one repaired.

"That should do it," Dirt Boss muttered.

They ducked as Snarls went flying through the air over head, heavily burnt, but not out of the fight. He proved this by turning into his humanoid form and drawing his fiery axe, landing in a kneeling position. He leaped back to his feet and came back to attacking Soundwave, completely ignoring Frenzy and Rumble's offenses.

"Well, I think that this just about ends _my_ involvements for the night," Swindle chuckled nervously, "Thank you for shopping with Swindle's, and have a nice life!"

Swindle transformed into jeep mode and took off into the woods. His engine actually sounded nervous as he quickly disappeared into the forest.

"Yeah, I gotta get out of here too before I loose my Decepticon customers," Lockdown said. He called over, "Good luck, kid! I'll know if things turned out if I see Prowl rolling around!"

Lockdown transformed and followed Swindle into the woods. In moments, his red lights were gone.

"So long, sucker," Rick growled, dropping down from the human tank and running off into the darkness.

Snarl kicked at Rumble, knocking the little guy clear into the woods and unconscious. Frenzy abandoned the fight to go look after his brother, reducing Snarl and Soundwave's fight to a one-on-one duel. Blitzwing was driven to the ground when Swoop took up his humanoid form and landed on his back, smashing the triple-changer's head into the mud. Grimlock roared in pain when Lugnut slammed his fist down on the Dinobot's shoulder. Scrapper and Mixmaster were trying to defeat Blackarachnia without actually hurting her _and_ flirting with her.

"Come on, Prowl" Charles muttered as he got into the human tank. "Let's end this."

Inside the tank, protected from the cold rain and wind, the tank was actually kind of warm. Mud and water was on the floor from the previous two visitors. The air felt somewhat stale and the energy had Charles' arm hair and mustache standing on end. He brushed his mustache down, but it puffed up again.

_I hope the process will be quick, before anyone smashed the machine,_ Prowl said nervously.

"I hope so, too," Charles muttered, watching Dirt Boss start up the transaction process.

So there they were: Dirt Boss was obeying his inner workman, getting the job finished, with Prowl's body's metal and glass "coffin" hooked into one side and Charles/Prowl in the other side of the machine. The trees were practically doubling over in the wind and everything was sopping wet in wake of the storm. The meadow was torn up and only getting worse as the defense-offense battle raged between Dinobots, Constructicons, and Decepticons. Finally, a blast of thunder roared out as lightening struck the machine's lightening pole, thus charging it up.

"Here we go!" Dirt Boss yelled, smacking a final button.

The sensation Charles felt first was a tingle that numbed him, similar to the feeling one gets when one's foot falls asleep. He found himself petrified where he stood, unable to move. Little licks of electricity could be seen zipping around at the corner of his eye as the tank began to glow yellow. The numbing increased until he could _feel_ Prowl in his head, making him an independent mass. Then he felt Prowl being pulled out, little by little. The glowing reached a pitch and for a moment, the pulling stopped.

Then, with a sudden, savage yank, Prowl was ripped from Charles's head with a flash of pain all over his body that disappeared as quickly as it came, taking almost all of his energy with it. Charles' legs gave out from under him and he fell onto his side onto the floor of the tank. For a brief moment, he felt Prowl being rushed through the connecting cable beam and away then he was gone.

The other tank, covered with metal and glass, glowed yellow from with in, sending beams of light into the darkness when it slid out from cracks. Charles struggled against his sudden exhaustion to see what would come out of the coffin, what the real Prowl, in the metal, looked like. But he was only human, and there was no fighting the urge to sleep and restore him self…


	22. Supposed To

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 22**: **Supposed To**

Optimus and the other Detroit Defender Autobots were inside and watching a scary movie, hiding from the storm, when a pounding suddenly started up on the door. Bumblebee yipped and jumped up to cling to Bulkhead while Optimus got up to go see who it was.

"Relax, Bumblebee," Sari chuckled, "It's not _that_ scary!"

"Yeah, I know, I was just protecting Bulkhead," Bumblebee lied nervously, patting Bulkhead on the head.

"Who in the _world_ is out in _this_ storm, Prime?" Ratchet called.

Optimus opened the door. Before he even saw who was there, a light blue blur zipped under his arm and came to a stop standing between the Autobot team and the TV. For a moment, they just saw an eerily familiar speeder 'bot with a frazzled-looking human in his arms. Then they recognized him.

_"Blurr!?"_ Ratchet exclaimed.

"Holy smokes, mech, we thought you were dead!" Jazz exclaimed.

"I was. ButthenIgotresurrected into the bodyofa human, this human, andthoughIdon'tknow why, but afterafewweeksI gotused tobeingin anorganicbodyandwemet someotherpeoplebut there'snotimefor thattheDecepticonsare attackingDinobotIslandand theyneedyourhelp!"

"English, Blurr, English!" Sari yelled.

"The Decepticons are attacking Dinobot Island!" Blurr shouted.

* * *

Blitzwing decided that now was the time for his scheme and kicked Swoop away, rolling over to the large bundle he had brought along. He pulled the computer disk out of a storage compartment and reached under the blanket. He ducked when Scrapper was thrown over him and Blackarachnia followed in a flying kick, screeching like an Amazon she-warrior. He stuck the computer disk into something and let loose a sigh of relief when he heard the sound of something charge up and saw something glow under the blanket.

At that moment, the coffin-tank of Prowl burst open and a black shadow leaped from it, disappearing briefly into the trees, then transferring to the grass to crouch low. Curious, Blitzwing turned over to see what the shadow was. It was fast enough to be a threat; maybe it was another Dinobot freak?

With the job done and his life on the line, the Dirt Boss bolted, or tried to, leaving behind the machine with the unconscious Charles in it. Frenzy and Rumble appeared though, looking mad as hell about being kicked out of the fight and wanting to redeem themselves. As Dirt Boss began to fend off the ticked Minicons, Blitzwing stood and looked for the mystery shadow.

For a moment, Blitzwing did not see anything in the night-like blackness of the storm. Lightening lit the sky and he saw _something_ crouching in the meadow grass. Blitzwing changed to his Hot Head personality and glared out over the meadow. Without looking, he aimed one of his shoulder canons behind him and shot at the machine, sending it up in flame instantly and lighting up the meadow. A shadow darted by the machine, taking up the human-sized tank with Charles in it, and disappeared into the woods to hide it. Blitzwing turned to find the shadow.

He didn't even see the shadow approach before it suddenly burst from the grass under his feet, kicking him in the chest before darting off to his left. He turned to follow the shadow, but it struck from the right, going off somewhere in front of him, then coming from the back to knock out his legs and make him hit the ground on his knees.

"**Stop playing with me, freak!"** Hot Head Blitzwing roared, **"Come out and fight like a mech!"**

He got one foot up, only to be struck from the right and get knocked onto his side.

_*We can not see where he's coming from,* _Cold diagnosed, *_He is fast, silent, and invisible. He also appears to be going for nerve points, suggesting a martial artist. Tell me, who of us is best at martial arts?*_

_Why, Macbeth is!_ Random replied cheerfully.

Cold took over as the bundle began to move.

"Perfect timing," Cold said.

* * *

Macbeth found that being a sentient program (was that right?) in a computer disk was timeless. He didn't know if he was in there a long or short time and it didn't really matter. He had an unusual amount of patients without a sense of passing time. He sat on the floor of his virtual prison, manipulating the disk's primitive coding to shape things from his mind. Music, faces, locations, memories; everything he switched through slowly and with care, looking at the life that was no longer his. He wondered if anyone had come over from Russia to hold his funeral. He wondered how everyone felt about loosing him.

The thing he wondered about most was when he would next see the real world. Would it be in the present day world, or would some curious Transformer plug him into the computer and find him as a link to a distant past? He didn't know, and truth to tell, it was somewhat scary. But being terrified wouldn't help him; only drive him mad.

So he sat, alone and isolated. He started wondering what each of the Blitzwing aspects would do if they were with him. He actually smirked when he realized that he missed them.

"_They were my prison guards, and somehow, my friend,"_ he said aloud. _"Weird."_

An undetermined length of time passed.

Then he became aware of limbs—_real_ limbs—and a body to go with them. He felt something heavy on him and wetness under him with coldness over him. He heard clanking metal, roars, shouts, thunder, wind and rain.

He was given no time to question; a blanket was pulled from him and he found himself looking up at Cold Blitzwing. Blitzwing hauled him to his feet and shoved him to the shadows.

"Take care of him," Cold simply ordered.

Macbeth found himself standing in a meadow in the middle of a dark storm. Something was on fire behind him. His large metal boots were sinking a near foot into the soggy ground. Around him, Lugnut, Blackarachnia, Soundwave and the Minicons fought primary colored and lime green mechs.

In front of him, a figure was hiding in the shadows. Somehow, he just _knew_ that the figure was his enemy. He scanned the darkness, seeing no one. Blitzwing stepped back and crossed his arms across his chest, smirking. When Swoop tried to get up, he stepped on the Dinobot's back, pinning him to the ground.

Macbeth heard something rush in from the side and brought his arm up, stopping the strike just in time. He turned his head and found himself looking into a surprised metal gray face of a black and yellow mech.

Prowl.

The lightening flashed over head and briefly, Macbeth caught a glimpse of his image in the rain-soaked reflection of his opponent's metal exterior: He had a body similar to Blitzwing's, but black and dark blue in color, and slimmer. The face was a unique one: It had a long, narrow chin and a thin red visor. Everything else was covered in a dark blue—almost black—covering, leaving a stripe down the center of his face with an inward-pointing triangle pattern on either side of the stripe.

"What—"Prowl began.

Macbeth's free fist came down, slamming into Prowl's gut, sending him flying back. Prowl caught himself in the air and flipped, landing in a crouching position. Macbeth felt something new in his arms and activated it. Six-inch long dark blue metal spikes sprouted from his knuckles. Prowl looked surprised, but he did not let that hesitate him again.

They circled each other slowly before Prowl darted forward, striking at Macbeth. Macbeth dodged, struck out, and Prowl dodged. The two shadows circled around and around each other, carefully tracking each other in the dark storm, giving and deflecting blows, dodging them; neither giving nor gaining ground. Around them, the other fights continued.

Prowl leaped up, throwing a couple of throwing stars down at Macbeth.

Macbeth ducked and caught the throwing stars easily before throwing them at Prowl. Prowl caught the stars and sheathed them even as he landed from his leap and charged for Macbeth. Macbeth felt annoyance at failing to hit Prowl with his own blades, impressed at the catch that had a low success rate, and mused at how much alike the throwing stars and flowers were.

Wait, what was this?

Distracted, Macbeth failed to block the punch Prowl landed on him, knocking his face to the side. Prowl's fist came back for another strike, but Macbeth managed to make himself grab the fist and flip Prowl over, slamming him into the ground.

Yeah, this was what it was like: Being in control, but have little incoherent voices in the back of your head, independently voicing different opinions and thoughts, always ready to step forward and take control. This was what it was like to be a triple-changer. This was what it was like to be Blitzwing. His time in Blitzwing's head had changed him, definitely.

Macbeth stabbed down at Prowl with his spiked knuckles. Prowl rolled aside to avoid the spikes and caught the boot Macbeth kicked at him. Macbeth found himself yanked off his feet and spun around before landing on his front. He leaped back up as Prowl regained his feet and swung a leg out. Prowl easily jumped over the leg and came to land, as light as a butterfly, on Macbeth's broad shoulders.

Before Prowl could do anything, though, Macbeth reached up and seized Prowl by his ankles and pulled him off, swinging him around and around before throwing him a good distance away. Prowl went sliding along on the ground, kicking up waves of water, mud, and grass as he went. This was it: The final shot.

Macbeth was _supposed_ to hesitate, to have cold feet about murder, to question which side he was on before turning on Blitzwing, or going through with this and regretting it later. He was _supposed_ to say sorry for the kill. He was _supposed_ to hesitate in the name of humanity.

But he was also _supposed_ to be human. He was also _supposed_ to be in love with another human. He was also _supposed_ to have the body he was born in. He was _supposed _to be an Autobot-supporter.

But sometimes, humanity is lost for something more preferable, and in this case, it was humanity for power and a life far more meaningful than bustling about Earthling colonies like one of so many pathetic nanobots. After all, why settle for being a teacher for someone's brats when you can go for a far more _entertaining_ profession of violence and war? What ever doubts he had had before had been erased from existence, along with his human body, and had been erased in his time with Blitzwing among the Decepticons.

He was no longer Macbeth the human, but Macbeth the Decepticon.

Macbeth strode forward, clenching his fists with the knuckle spikes sharp. All it would take was one quick back stab and—

At that moment, lights flooded onto him. He looked up and saw a caravan of cars and trucks come out of the forest, their headlights coming across the battle. Behind him, Swoop forced himself to sit up and opened his jaws, spitting a large jet of fire at Macbeth. Macbeth dodged the flames and looked about, realizing that he was surrounded. The look on the Constructicons' and Decepticons' faces was all the same: The "oh slag" look of a gathering getting caught doing something illegal.

_*Time to go,* _Cold whispered in his own head, _*There are too many.*_

Macbeth some how over heard Cold and grunted in acknowledgement. He drew back his claws as Soundwave called the retreat. The Decepticons quickly broke away from their fights and transformed. Lugnut took on his cargo plane form and Soundwave and his Minicons ran into his bay as he took off. Blitzwing transformed into his jet form and took off into the air. Macbeth pawed around for the transforming sequence he had felt in a second-hand way with Blitzwing and found it.

He jumped up and became a B2-Stealth Bomber. He circled the clearing once before transforming back into humanoid form, flying low to pick up Blackarachnia before blasting off into the sky. All this happened in less than a minute. Blackarachnia looked down at the Autobots below then stared at Macbeth. She didn't speak, though; just leaned against Blitzwing and rest after the grueling fight.

Inside his head, Macbeth stood facing Random and Hot Head and Cold. They stared at each other for several minutes. Finally, the Transformer personalities shifted from foot to foot nervously, clearing their throats.

_*How are you still in my head?*_ Cold asked.

_I think being with you for so long has made a permanent connection. I believe it's called telepathy._

_Hurray! We have a brother!_Random cheered.

_**Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay, shut up and go away,**_ Hot Head growled.

_You have some explaining to do first,_ Macbeth said in a tone that forbade arguing, _what is going on? First you ditch me in some _flash drive_, then you stick me back into… what __is__ this?_

Cold cleared his throat, preparing to explain himself.

_*After reviewing your performance as a back up, including your duel with Jazz, you adaptation to a Transformer body, and lack of hesitation to kill, it was decided that you were a good addition to the Decepticons. Hence, I had a body made for you to put your mind in. The deal was if you were resurrected into a fight that you survived with no help, then you would be allowed to live with in the Decepticon ranks. The telepathic connection was not expected.*_

_Alright,_ Macbeth said, nodding, _what now?_

_**What now? You work for **__**us**__**, puny organic!**_ Hot Head snarled, coming forward to tower over Macbeth, _**We fight when we tell you to, you talk when we tell you to, you **_**live**_** when we tell you to and don't even **_**think**_** about trying to run away, and—hey, what's with the smile?**_

Macbeth was smiling like a fox because he suddenly realized what the jumbled up feelings he was feeling were. The amusement he felt was Random waiting for Macbeth to chew Blitzwing out for making him a Decepticon. The awkwardness of compromised pride was Cold trying to find a way of explaining that he wanted Macbeth to stay without being sickeningly sweet. The annoyance he felt was Hot Head silently threatening Macbeth _not_ to be smug, or by Primus, he didn't know how, but Hot Head _would _kill Macbeth. All together, from the whole Blitzwing, Macbeth felt a respectful possessiveness; Macbeth was only a tool, an asset, but he was an asset with fond connections, similar to how a general takes a liking to a special agent, a hunter to their hound.

It was down right amusing.

_I'd be happy to stay,_ was all he said.

* * *

Apparently, word had spread among the ranks back at the base, for when they got back, it seemed like the entire base had shown up to see the new guy. Macbeth felt their stares at his body, a brother of Blitzwing's own, and sensed them intensifying when they saw how tenderly he treated Blackarachnia. But, of course, leave it to Frenzy and Rumble to break a mood.

"Hey!" Frenzy shouted.

"What?" Rumble asked.

"The black guy's stealin' mah woman!"

A telepathic echo of Hot Head made Macbeth raise his arm, pointing at Frenzy. A small nozzle appeared on his shoulder and from it, spat a large black-metal spike that flew through the air and landed at Frenzy's feet, missing only because he jumped out of the way. Snickers passed through the bystanders.

"Well, Mr. Macbeth," Shockwave commented, "It looks like we're going to have to brand you."

"In a little while, Shockwave," Macbeth said, ignoring the peculiar way his Russian accent came out warped in his new robot body, "The lady here needs medical attendance."

Blackarachnia blushed as Macbeth escorted her away.

"Right, right, gotta help the girl out," Frenzy said, holding his arms out to Rumble, "Well, Rumble, my dear, will you be requiring--?"

"Finish that sentence and I'm going to bring down the entire base on your fat skull."


	23. Seperate Paths

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 23: Separate Paths**

Detroit's repair robots were fixing broken windows and fallen power lines all over the city, as well as picking up fallen tree branches in the park and trash that had been scattered when trash cans had been knocked over. In the Autobot headquarters, Blurr, Toby, Prowl and Charles were finishing up their stories. The resurrected mechs sat on the couch with their humans beside them as the other Autobots stood around them. Fanzone was at the meeting as well and couldn't stop staring at Charles.

"But when we found you, Charles, you were _outside_ of the tank," Optimus said, "How did you get out? And where did this man, Rick, go?"

"Rick must have pulled me out," Charles said, "Then ran off to avoid confrontation. He's like that."

"Good residence," Toby snorted, "He was a jerk."

"Well, he _did_ have Starscream…_ infiltrating_ him," Ratchet said hesitantly ,"That could explain a lot."

"No, he was a jerk," Charles said.

"So, hold on," Bulkhead said, "You're saying that the dead-bots got stuck in humans like them because the All Spark was messed up?"

"That's our theory," Prowl confirmed. "How exactly or why is not easily determined, but there is defiantly a connection between a Transformer and their host being alike in personality."

"Well, it's great that everyone's back," Optimus said, "This glitch with the All Spark will have to be reported so that we can keep an optic out for anymore events like this. But what about you, Officer Charles and Toby, what are _you_ going to do now?"

"Chill out and make sure my friend, Owl, doesn't go off the deep end," Toby said with a wink, "He's been kind of loosing it lately with, er, 'my' weird behavior."

"Do you think it'll help if I show myself?" Blurr asked.

"Uh…no."

"Good call." Blurr stood up and stretched. "Well, I got to call Elite Guard, have them pick me up, and report on these weird occurrences, I'm sure that everyone will be surprised to see me alive and in a humanoid form again, and I certainly can't wait to play a ghost prank on Sentinel when he realizes that I'm not as dead as I thought oh and Toby, I might come back here to check on the Autobots here so when I do you wanna get together and just chit chat I can probably even take you to Cybertron one day, well, nice knowing you all, let's call that guard!"

Blurr zipped off to go report in and call the Elite Guard. The others had little to no idea what Blurr had said, but Toby had gotten used to it, having thought in such a way himself, and grinned.

"Go to Cybertron? Hell yeah, that sounds great!" Toby cheered.

"I guess that I'll just go back to my own normal life," Charles said, "Maybe now Jesse and James will stop begging me to act out _The Matrix_, now that I don't have kung-fu skills anymore."

"It's cyber jitsu," Prowl corrected, "And why don't you _try_, just in case?"

"Oh, yeah!" Sari cheered, jumping up to face Charles, "Come on, I know some _awesome_ moves to try out on you!"

Charles hesitantly went to stand on the floor in front of the teenage cyborg as she struck a battle pose. Prowl looked down at Sari then up at the others.

"Who has been teaching the eleven year old-in-a-teenager's-body-robot girl martial arts?" he asked.

Everyone stepped away and pointed to Jazz. The blue and white Elite Guard ninja shrugged and smiled nervously.

"Hey, gotta fill the ninja quota, right?" he asked.

"Don't worry," Sari said, bouncing on her heels, "I'll take it easy on ya. Hi—yah!!"

Sari pounced at Charles, shouting as her hand came to chop at Charles' arm. Her shout turned into a surprised yip when Charles's hand grabbed her wrist and he ducked under as he spun, winding up pinning Sari's arm to her back.

"Oh, wow, yow, hey, I took it easy on you, I demand a rematch!" Sari exclaimed.

"Well, what do you know," Charles chuckled, releasing Sari, "I still got some of your moves, Prowl."

"Well, that explains a lot," Captain Fanzone said, "Hey, with moves like that, you could go places!"

"Preferably the local _oil refinery_," Charles said, "Toby, Rick, and I made a deal with the Constructicons: They help us, we give them oil."

"What? No way!" Bumblebee exclaimed, "They're Decepticons! And they're not _that_ smart… are they?""

"They _can _be that smart, and they're _ex-_Decepticons," Prowl pointed out, "They work for who ever has the best oil now. They just want to be left in peace, like the Dinobots. Which reminds me; I have to go tie something up. I'll be back soon."

Prowl stood up and transformed into his motorcycle form. He put up his hologram rider to perfect the disguise and Charles' eyes widened when he saw that the hologram was a near exact replica of him.

"Uh… Prowl?" he asked, "I think people will get confused fast if they see me in two different places at once."

"But this is my original hologram," Prowl replied, speaking with his hologram.

"Well… suddenly things make a lot of sense," Charles muttered.

Prowl bade a quick good bye before zipping out of the Autobots' factory headquarters.

"Did anyone else see the ninja-Blitzwing, or was that my mind?" Jazz asked.

"We saw him too," Optimus said, "I don't know who he is, but I can already tell that he's going to be a handful."

"Can't wait to catch and interrogate _that_ nut job," Ratchet said, smiling at Optimus, "Those quiet and mysterious types always have an interesting story to tell."

"So, does this make us, like, apart of the team or something?" Toby asked hopefully.

"Mmm, I'd say _friends_ would be a better term," Optimus replied.

"Good enough for me!" Toby said, grinning as he flashed the thumb's up sign. "And, hey, do I see _Ultimate Dynasty 7 _by the games over there?"

"Oh, no," Ratchet groaned, covering his face with his palm.

"Yeah! Wanna play?" Sari asked.

"Heck yeah!" Toby exclaimed, "Tag team! Me and Charles and against you and Bumblebee! "

"You're on! Jazz, be our referee!"

"You got it," Jazz chuckled as the others scrambled to set up the game.

Charles wasn't too good of a video game player, but decided on letting Toby figure that out for himself. As they got their characters ready, he felt around for anything and was slightly put out to find only himself. He hadn't realized how much he was going to miss his body-sharing partner. Well, he would get used to it in time. And, on the bright side, he and Prowl were friends now and he knew where to find Prowl if he ever needed help.

* * *

Everything broken went into the dumpster. Everything he didn't pack into his duffle bag was sold off for road money. He turned in his apartment's keys and said good bye to the local broads and bar tenders. He dumped every job he had scheduled, which wasn't too many. All the while, he reveled in the peaceful, private quietness inside his head left behind from Starscream. Unlike Charles, he didn't miss the rude, pompous body-sharing partner in the least bit.

His plan was simple: Skip town, go to Mexico, and restart life there. There weren't any Transformers there, so no body-hopping freaks. Just lots and lots of fun stuff that the Americans were jealous of that he could easily slip into to make a living. This body-sharing thing was going to become nothing but a bad ghost story amidst glasses of tequila and the desert flower smell of hot, spicy chicks—

"Yo, Rick, my man, what up, brother?"

Rick grimaced as he looked up and found himself looking down at Phineus, who was now following him as he walked down the street with a backpack on his back and a duffle bag on his shoulder. Judging by the happy smile, Phineus had another idea.

"What?" Rick growled, laying venom on his voice.

"You know how they got the Spark Born running all over the place?" Phineus asked, "Well, I got this cool idea: Why don't we find, like, some of that All Spark stuff and made ourselves a little friend to help us out with stuff—"

_Whock!!_

Phineus was knocked into the wall with his nose bleeding. He put a hand to the nose, looked at the blood, then glared up at Rick. This was far worse than when Rick had smacked him around for the air field incident; then, Rick hadn't even bruised the weird little man.

"Dude!" he yelled, "What the—"

"_Shut up_ and get into a freaking _psych ward_!" Rick bellowed, jabbing a finger at Phineus. "I am through with this town, and I am through with _you_!"

He stalked off down the street. Phineus gave him a final look before trotting off in the opposite direction and out of Rick's life. Rick's odd departure would be something subject to legend later, do to its timing: Sometime after the Decepticons came and right after the worse storm in decades, one of the popular background faces just disappeared. It was an easy tale to make memorable and to add little details to make it an epic legend. Rick, of course, couldn't care less about what people thought of him.

A little while later, the rumble of a muscle car started following Rick close behind. Rick ignored it. If it was someone who wanted action, they could come and get it themselves. He wasn't going to attract attention until he was across the border.

"Where ya' going?"

Rick jumped nervously and turned to see the car following him and the apparent source of the voice. It was black muscle car with pipes peeking out from underneath, a green fang-like design on the front winging a large grey piece of equipment poking out of the hood, and red glass windows. It also had spikes on the roof and a mean-looking front bumper, as if it were ready to scoop up a victim and toss them over itself before the car moved on. It was defiantly the type of car parents would warn their kids away from, but the kids would think it was to bad ass to ignore.

"Somewhere where there aren't any more Trans-freaking-formers," Rick snapped, "I've had just about enough of _them_, _especially_ after this whole body-possessing business!"

"Got any idea about what you're gonna do when you get there?" Lockdown asked.

"Same as usual: Make some friends, crash on their couch, and get myself a job as a club bouncer or _something…"_

"Seems like a pretty empty existence," Lockdown noted, "Incredibly boring and wasted, too, when you could be making some money while having some _real_ action."

Rick couldn't help himself: Action + money = worth listening to.

"What _kind_ of action?" Rick asked.

"Well, you said you wanted to go someplace without anymore 'Trans-freaking-formers'—"

"No, no, tell me!"

"Well, there are _a lot _of bounties to go after here on Earth, and I figured that hey, why not start fattening up a bank account here? With the war and all, it's only a matter of time before a Transformer can have an open existence here to spend cash and chill. Problem is that no one's gonna pay a Transformer at the moment."

"But don't you like collecting spare parts?" Rick asked.

"Yeah, but I can bounce back and forth between Earth and intergalactic business. My point is that I need a human to help me out with Earth business: Nabbing other guys, collecting the rewards, stuff like that. So, what do you say, you in or out?"

Rick considered it.

"What about living conditions?" he asked.

"You live in whatever hotel you can afford with your share of the money."

"And when you're in space?"

"Well, occasionally someone pays me enough to go after an organic, and I guess things _could_ get easier with an organic helper to nab them."

Then the important question: "Why me?"

"Prowl—or Charles—told me about you and I did some research on you. You're the kind of guy I need: clever, strong, doesn't give an empty energon cube about what others do in their spare time, knows his way around a fight, and loyal when he has a good cause. So, what d' ya say?"

Rick stopped when the car stopped and it swung the passenger door open.

"Partner?" Lockdown asked.

In the driver's seat was a broad-shouldered scruffy looking man with slicked-back black hair and a stubble with a cigarette between his lips. He was dressed in a black leather jacket studded with spikes on the collar and shoulders and black biker gloves with spikes on the knuckles with matching black jeans and boots. He stared over at Rick with unnatural red eyes. It was so realistic an image that Rick thought it was a real man until the image flickered; it was a hologram and nothing more.

Rick stared at the black leather seats inside. A little voice reminded him about the Starscream business, about Mexico, about the fact that the car was a _living thing._ But did he really have anything to loose? Finally, he shrugged and tossed the duffle bag inside.

"Sure," Rick grunted, getting in. "Not like I'm gonna die old, anyway."

Lockdown's hologram smiled as the door shut behind Rick with the official feel of a prison door and drove on. They stopped shortly at an intersection with a red light. Across from them, Rick was surprised to see Charles on his motorcycle. But as he stared, Charles flickered and faded before coming strong again—a hologram? Then this was Prowl.

The hologram looked over to Lockdown and Rick. For a moment the two disguised robots parked there staring at each other. Finally, the two holograms nodded respectfully to each other as the light changed green and they turned into different lanes, going in opposite directions of each other.

"What was _that_ about?" Rick asked.

"Respect between rivals, Rick," Lockdown said as his human hologram glancing in the rear view mirror at Prowl, "Respect between rivals."

* * *

"…It was a gruesome, shameful ordeal, but I bore through and taught that embarrassing excuse of an organic who was boss and made him my personal slave while I was imprisoned in his miserable blood bag…"

Starscream was standing tall on a make-shift table of a metal plate on two stacks of energon cubes, retelling his adventure in elaborate detail to a crowd of fascinated Decepticons in the Decepticon moon base. While most of them thought Starscream was a pompous windbag who deserved to _stay_ dead, they had to admit that they were curious as to how Starscream escaped death _this_ time, especially since Starscream's body had long since been proudly and publically crushed into a cube and tossed to the trash when it had been recovered from the original Detroit battle. Everyone remembered it because they had had a party celebrating the occasion.

Blackarachnia stood in the shadows of the doorway in the back of the crowd, ankles and arms crossed as she leaned against the doorway and watched to the Seeker retell his tale. He told of how he had made his human host sob in misery at his awesome power and manipulated the human body to ruin the man's life, not to mention make him swear loyalty to Starscream.

"Listening to him, you would get the idea that he wanted to go back to the human. They'll certainly give him more respect than anything he'll get here."

Blackarachnia turned to see Macbeth behind her. The purple Decepticon brand on his smooth, black metal chest was still glowing red at the edges and steaming: An official Decepticon now, he was.

"Did it hurt?" she asked.

"I got a piece of molten burning metal shoved into my chest by a Cyclops that looked like he was getting a sadistic kick out of it." Macbeth shrugged. "Not as bas as I thought it would."

"Yeah, Shockwave likes the branding part," Blackarachnia snickered.

"He may have made me property of the Decepticon army, but only one femme has _my_ Spark."

"Smooth," Blackarachnia giggled.

The lower half of the dark-blue mask drew aside to reveal an almost-human dark blue face. He smiled. Before Blackarachnia knew what he was doing, Macbeth grabbed her gently and pulled her close in a sudden, unexpected… screw it, you know what it is.

When they broke, Blackarachnia smiled and said, "You know, I think we just might make this work… for a little while, at least. Then we'll break up and I get to try poisoning your aft."

She flexed the extra legs on her shoulders in warning.

"I'll try to avoid the 'breaking up' part," Macbeth replied. "But poisoning? You can do that when I'm being a jerk."

Blackarachnia chuckled before they kissed again. Starscream suddenly noticed the new-faced Blitzwing-look-alike and pointed dramatically to the couple.

"Hey!" he yelled, "Who the Spark are _you_!?"

Macbeth kept one arm wrapped around Blackarachnia's waist while the other lifted up to direct a shoulder cannon Starscream's way. When he spoke, he exaggerated the soft Russian in his other-wise American accent.

"I'm Decepticon Macbeth; Blitzwing's new bodyguard and Blackarachnia's boyfriend."

Frenzy wailed in dismay as Macbeth shot a single metal spike out at Starscream.


	24. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: Hasbro and Cartoon Network owns TFA. All additional culture references, locations, et cet, belong to their rightful owners. I own the story.**

**Chapter 24: Epilogue**

The Autobots were brutal with Megatron. When Blitzwing had escaped, they doubled his misery by putting the Starscream clones, Sunstorm and Ramjet, in the cells on either side of him.

"You're a marvelous leader, Lord Megatron," Sunstorm purred on one side, "It's a shame that the Autobots were clever enough to put one as intelligent and genius as you in one of these lovely prison cells.

Megatron feel good—kinda.

"We're not completely doomed," Ramjet said on the other side, "We're just taking a unique vacation, and no, the Autobots aren't planning our executions, which they will _not_ celebrate in public."

Megatron feel bad.

"Even if I could get out of here, I could never hope to live up to have a reputation like you!"

Megatron feel good.

"Yeah, this isn't a pathetic situation that anyone could avoid with proper precautions; the Autobots just got lucky. We'll get out of here someday and no one will tease you about being the fallen leader."

Okay, that was it.

"Will you both shut up," Megatron groaned, rubbing his head with both hands. "You're not helping. Where the Pit is Blitzwing with the rescue forces?"

"He's not coming, worry about it," Ramjet replied in that part-amused tone of his.

Megatron groaned louder and punched the wall, leaving behind a crater. Then he did a double take and in his own jail cell, Ramjet grimaced in confusion and rubbed his head. If Ramjet lied all the time, and that made everything the opposite…

"I intended that to come out like that," Ramjet lied.

Sirens suddenly went off all over the place, making Megatron look up in confusion as he wondered how a mere punch made the security systems panic. In the distance, he heard fighting that got louder and more violent as he approached.

"Oh, my," Sunstorm twittered, "It seems like someone is putting up a most wonderful fight! Who could be so strong and powerful as to break into the Stockades?"

"Not someone who wants to get _us_ out," Ramjet snorted, "No one would care enough to rescue _us_." He paused. "I didn't just say something hopeful."

"Come on," Megatron muttered, standing up, "Come on…"

At that moment, the prison doors of the cells were blown up by three different missiles. A couple of Minicons, one light blue and lavender and the other scarlet and black ran by, laughing and enjoying themselves as they chased after a fleeing Autobot. Laser fire flew through the air.

Megatron stood in front of his door, hesitating to step out into possible enemy fire. The laser fire stopped. After a moment, a mech he had never expected to be grateful to see, Lugnut, came sliding side-ways along the dust and rubble of the destroyed doors and collapsed to his knees in front of Megatron's cell, throwing his claws up to the sky.

"All Hail the Great and Glorious Megatron!" Lugnut trumpeted, "Finally, after many a horrendous adventure, we have come to—"

Blitzwing leaped from the side, double-foot kicking Lugnut in the head and knocking him out of the way. He looked back as a mech with a body shell very similar to his followed. This mech, though, was as dark as a black hole with an almost floral, arcane pattern on his shoulders, sides, and gloves in narrow cerulean lines. The missile-shoulder protrusions were non-existent, as were hard ridges. The wings on his back were triangular, like a stealth plane's. The mech's face had Hot Head's visor, but a triangular, dark blue mask covering the rest of his face. One of Megatron's eye brows rose up quizzically when the two nodded and made gestures to each other. A secret communication?

The dark mech glanced at Megatron and Blitzwing held a hand out to Megatron, as if showing a display. The dark mech nodded and stepped forward, bowing low to Megatron.

"Lord Megatron, we are here to rescue you," he said in a human's Russian voice.

"Who are you?" Megatron asked.

Blitzwing's Cold face disappeared with a blur as it changed to Random. Random reached into a compartment in his armor as he flashed a cheery smile at Megatron.

"He's the new guy! And here's your pea shooter!"

From his armor he pulled Megatron's arm canon and tossed it to Megatron. In one fluid motion, Megatron caught the cannon and locked it onto his arm.

"And is this 'new guy' a trust-worthy one, Blitzwing?" he asked.

"Yeap! He was in my head for a while, but he moved out and got his own body. Now we keep in contact by telepathy! His name's Stealth."

"Oh dear Primus," Megatron sighed, "Not another."

"You should see him at night and when he's mad: He turns blacker than Blackout listening to Eminem!"

"I do not understand Earthling racism humor. Tell me, Blitzwing, do you purposefully go out of your way to adopt new personalities, or does it just happen?"

Whir-click! "It happens on its own, Lord Megatron. And, in spite of his independency, Macbeth had proven to be a valuable asset."

Looking at Blitzwing, Megatron somehow realized that what ever Stealth was, he was protected by Blitzwing's personal preference. To order Blitzwing to shut down Stealth would be one order where Blitzwing would actually fight Megatron to deny. So, rather than question a good thing, he decided to do what he did best.

"Well," he said coolly, "Let's see how well he fights. Decepticons!" he bellowed, making sure everyone in audio processor radius could hear him, "Free the prisoners and burn this place to the ground!"

"Alright!" Rumble cheered.

He turned his arms into pile drivers and began to pound them into the ground, making an earthquake that grew and maximized as it spread through the Stockades, knocking Autobots from their feet and ensuing chaos.

And thus it began again.

**The End**

* * *

**CREDITS**

**All Transformers, Sari, and Fanzone:**** Owned by Hasbro and Cartoon Network.**

**Jesse and James****: Inspired by the characters from Pokémon.**

**Other Human Characters and Stealth:**** Mine**

**Plot:**** Birthed from warring plot bunnies.**

**Author's Note:**** That was fun! I was going for Macbeth/Stealth being a permanent Blitzwing personality, but, eh, poor Blitzy has enough personalities as it is. Plus, I didn't wanna leave Blackarachnia hanging again, so I gave her some sugar. ^_) Well, that was fun. If ya'll want more stories with Stealth or a sequel (or any story, for that matter), just let me know!**


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